This Temple Tilts
by samurai-ashes
Summary: The Doctor is missing. This wouldn't bother the Winchesters so much they can't really tell the difference between the Apocalypse rebooting and time unwinding except that TARDIS is on the loose & she took the Impala with her. M/M, M/F, F/F: see inside.
1. Prologue

**_Shipping Notes, in order of weight:_**_ Dean/Castiel, TARDIS/Impala, Amy/Rory, implicit Doctor/River, briefly mentioned Sam/Ruby (in order of weight)_**  
**

**_Timeline Notes: _**_Takes place immediately after the last episode of season 6 of Doctor Who, and in an AU'd post-season 4 of Supernatural._

* * *

**Prologue**

This body feels different. She runs her hands over the front, over the long hair and the narrow face and frowns with borrowed lips. She had liked the other one better. _Idris_, something in her mind says, and she shudders as she looks around her surroundings once more. This doesn't fit right. This can only be temporary, just like the last one. It might not be enough time.

Something catches her awareness and tingles on the edges of her senses. She lurches while she's still adapting to these rented feet and follows the hint of magic in the air. She can feel it. Strength. _Importance. _It draws her like a magnet, and she knows that this is it. This is how she's going to find her Doctor.

"Hey! Miss, are you alright?"

She turns slowly. "I'm not Miss."

"What?" He has a funny hat and a bright flashlight – it obscures his features.

"I'm not called Miss." She turns, fully possessed of the container. She can feel it straining at every seam, but it will have to do. "I'm called Sexy."

* * *

The feeling draws her through the town. The TARDIS works her way through the throngs of people in some celebration. "It's Halloween!" a small thing in a strange costume had shouted, and she couldn't help but reply, "I'm in a costume too!" She stops in a human eatery where the feeling is stronger but fading fast. That's when she realizes that this isn't just magic, this is her kind of reality. Time and space all wrapped up into something bigger than it looks.

The trail continues down a highway and through a field. The moon is high when she finds it, resting outside a building labeled in flickering neon: Riverside Motel. She steps up and rests her palms on the cooling metal of the hood and exhales. "Oh. Hello, Baby."

"Hey! What are you doing to my car?" The man comes rushing out of one of the doors – rooms, she remembers; she has rooms as well – with a much larger man following after him. "Get off my car!"

"No. This is important. I need her help."

The larger man has a surprisingly gentle voice. "We help. Dean, calm down," he says to the shorter man. _Mine_, the metal under her hands seems to sing, and the TARDIS understands exactly. She removes her hands and turns to face them, smiling. Not-Mine smiles back and asks, "What's wrong?"

"My Doctor is missing," she says, "and I need your magic to find him."

The one called _Mine_, or perhaps Dean, turns a bit red. "Your magic? Lady – "

"Sexy."

Dean looks like his face is too small to contain all his feelings, but the TARDIS recognizes the way humans express frustration. It's endearing. "Clearly you need a doctor, but we don't do magic."

"Dean."

"Sam! She's on my car. And look at her! She looks like a crazy person! Who are you?" directing the last statement back at the TARDIS and resting hand on his hip.

"I borrowed this," the TARDIS replies. "It's Halloween, it's a costume, right? You – " She waves her hand at them and frowns. Even Not-Mine is letting suspicion overcome the compassion in his eyes. She runs her hand over the hood of the car and exhales. She nods. "Wrong, right. Wrong people, right magic. I won't bother you anymore tonight."

"Wait, ma'am, come in," Not-Mine (_also mine_, she's told to understand, _Sam_) says, indicating the open door behind them. Dean looks like he'd rather spit nails, but at Sam's urging she leaves the magic and follows them into Riverside Motel. There's a dingy chair and she would rather go back outside where the air is clean. Something inside her begins to throb, the pain just so. "Tell us about your doctor. Were you... close?"

"We've been together for 700 years. He belongs to me. He calls me sexy," she adds, looking out the window. The car is just one of a dozen in the parking lot, but can no one see how different it is? "I stole him." The boys share a look – Sam looks curious and Dean looks frustrated and the TARDIS taps her foot on the carpet. She stares at them until she really understands – and then she does. Time moves around them in a very special, almost broken, way. "You aren't normal."

Dean looks affronted, but Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. "We specialize in the weird. Can we take you anywhere? Do you have somewhere to go?"

The TARDIS nods. "Of course. I can go anywhere. Thank you for your time, boys. I'm sure we'll meet again." She grins and stands, twirling on her toe and making an exit. Her Doctor always did that. _Big entrance, big exit, don't let them forget. You're dead when they forget._ She closes the door behind her, and immediately the boys begin to argue. The curtains are closed, but their voices are loud.

Not far away, off to the TARDIS' left, a door opens. The woman who peers around the corner of the frame is perfect, and the TARDIS rushes forward to put a hand on her face. Yes, absolutely – if there is such a fickle thing as Fate, this is her. Fate and Time rushing off to save the world. The woman starts to rear back, but then settles into the touch. The TARDIS smiles, just a little breathless. "Can I borrow you?"

The woman, with her dark hair and intense eyes and strong muscles, looks back into an empty hotel room before nodding. The TARDIS hates to waste any more of the life she has left, but this is necessary. The woman's eyes flutter shut, but she remains upright. The TARDIS pulls her by the wrist over to the car. Their hands entwined, the TARDIS pressed their palms to the cool metal of the hood. "Well, darling, looks like it's going to be me and you. The two most important vehicles in all the universe, isn't that right? I can feel you alive under all this metal. I'm wood. I understand. Come on out. Don't want you to have an adventure?"

She has to help it along, but it hardly takes any coaxing at all before she feels the tingling in her hands. She can't see the soul move, but she can feel it. The change in the woman's eyes when they open again confirms it. The woman licks her lips and stares at their hands before looking up at the TARDIS. "I don't understand," and her voice is velvety and quiet. She draws her hand away slowly, her skin rough as their fingers drag together. The TARDIS shivers and composes herself. She's never had to compose herself before.

"Don't worry, Baby – that's your name, Baby? I'm Sexy. Look at you. You are the most important thing in this world, aren't you? I'm afraid I don't have much time. This world is breaking. We need to find the Doctor."

"We can't just leave," the Impala says, staring at the dead metal where her soul once lived. "He's going to be angry."

The TARDIS smirks. "I'm sure. But it's an adventure! You love a good adventure, don't you?"

A devilish glint to her eye, the Impala nods. "Since the day I was built."


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Dean can feel something wrong when he opens the driver side door. He couldn't explain it if he tried, but he would definitely use the word _dead_. So when he turns the key and nothing happens, he's not entirely surprised. That doesn't stop him from swearing like a sailor and trying six more times.

She doesn't even stutter – just dead silent.

"Maintenance?" Sam asks, laptop balanced comically on his knees. Dean rolls his eyes and gets out, pulling the hood up and checking all the usual suspects. The oil is still full enough. Battery is still good. All the fuses are in the right place. Everything is right where it needed to be. There's no reason for this. She was fine yesterday... Dean closes the hood and gets back in the car.

"Sam," he says slowly, the idea percolating, "you don't think that crazy broad...?"

"When would she?" Sam replies. He's clearly still using the motel Wi-Fi, and Dean knows he only has half his brother's attention. "And with what?" Sam adds as an afterthought.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting your porno time with the fact that we're stranded?" Dean snaps as he rubs his hands together. The fall morning is warming up, but the inside of the car is preternaturally chilly.

"Sorry," Sam says, though he sounds more distracted than apologetic. "I'm just trying to follow this case."

"Yeah?" Dean scoots closer across the front seat to see the screen. The headline scrolls just out of view, but not so fast that Dean doesn't see it: _Megafauna Ravage Canadian Wilds_. "You do know that big animals aren't really our area, right?"

"It's our kind of weird. Reports of dinosaurs from some campers."

"Crazies and nature," Dean replies, trying the key in the Impala one more time. Sam fixes him with a petulant expression that clearly says _Don't be a dick_, and Dean shakes his head. "Bitchy little girl. I tell you what, let me call Bobby. We're gonna need a ride anyway. You keep... googling, or whatever."

Bobby answers with a friendly-as-ever, "What now? Doesn't a man deserve from rest after helping avert the apocalypse?"

"Apparently not. Routine job, I promise." Dean steels his nerves. He doesn't want to have this conversation. He would rather talk about Sam's sex life than say this. "We need a tow."

"Do I look like triple A?" Bobby intones, and Dean can practically feel Bobby roll his eyes from four states away. "What'd you do to her?"

"Nothing! She was working fine last night. The engine is good, but she isn't turning over." Dean shifts in place and adds, "Also, Sam thinks there's some weird shit going down in Canada. Any chatter?"

Over the phone Dean can hear Bobby shuffle some papers. "I've heard some, but there's already four or five hunters up there sniffing it out."

Dean breathes a sigh of relief. "Good. _Great._ I'll let him know. You gonna come bail us out?"

"Yeah, like always – what's the address?" Dean gives him the address of the hotel and goes back to the car, where Sam is still reading with hard frown lines marring his expression. Dean hates to see Sam look so aged and wearied, but it's been a hell ever since the night at the abbey. Even with the apocalypse safely behind them, Dean can see "what if" weighing heavily on Sam's shoulders. He pulls the passenger door open, and Sam flinches away before collecting himself. "Look, it's going to be another day before Bobby gets here it – you wanna go check in again?"

"Sure." Sam closes his laptop and passes it off to Dean as he unfolds himself from the front seat. Dean lingers over his car for a moment longer, hand flat against the metal as if he could coax her to life by his touch alone.

No such luck. "Son of a bitch," he grumbles, heading back into the hotel room; at least it's warm in there from running the heater last night. He sits on the corner of the bed, tosses the laptop onto Sam's, and considers calling Castiel. If only he knew how Castiel would react – these days it seems to be a fifty-fifty chance that Castiel will resent being called, and Dean just doesn't have the energy. He's got Sam and his bleeding heart issues. The last thing he wants is Castiel to remind him that just because the apocalypse is postpone doesn't mean the battle is done.

Still, he thinks back to the woman; to her weird mannerisms and the way she said _You aren't normal._ "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray to Castiel my soul to keep," he grumbles, and Castiel shows up a moment later.

"I hate that prayer," Castiel says, his expression sour. Great. "Humans are so cavalier about souls."

"Sure," Dean retorts. "Do you have an angel on the loose? We had a close encounter with the weird kind."

Castiel raises an eyebrow, but it does little to lighten the look on his face. "Many angels are 'on the loose' right now – it's impossible to know them all. Did it have a name?"

"She didn't give us one." Dean leans back on his elbows, staring at the yellowed ceiling of the hotel room. "She kept asking after a doctor, though; said that he calls her sexy. Second thought, maybe not an angel."

"Did she say 'the doctor'?"

"Yeah." Dean titls his head to stare at Castiel, who is staring at the ground like he's trying to read something off the faded carpet. "I think so. Sam will remember. Why?"

"We were able to intercept some communication between Raphael and one his operatives, and they also mentioned 'the doctor'. This might not be a coincidence." In a second Castiel's expression turns from frustration to concern. He turns to Dean and asks, "Did she try to hurt you?"

"Dean – ."

"Hey." They both turn to look as Sam enters the room, unzipping his jacket as he closes the door behind them. "I got us two more days." He turns to Castiel. "Something wrong?"

"I thought that chick might be an angel," Dean says before Castiel can answer that question in far too much detail. Even post-apocalypse, there's still too much to call wrong. "Cas is gonna look into it for us."

"Yes," Castiel says, but he's not wearing his happy expression. Dean can tell. "I will be in touch." Without any pomp or circumstance he's gone, leaving Sam and Dean alone together. They share a look, and Dean clears his throat. Man, there is a _lot_ to call wrong.

"Bobby said some other hunters are already taking care of Canada," Dean says. "So, you know, chill out."

"Yeah, okay," Sam says. "Lunch?"

"Hell yes, lunch."

* * *

Castiel checks the Impala first, looking for some trace of grace. What he finds isn't exactly grace, but it's quite powerful and entirely unfamiliar. Whatever it was that accosted Dean and Sam wasn't an angel, but it also wasn't anything close to human.

More curious is the Impala. Typically it's thrumming with force of its own even when turned off. Now the car is just a lump of formed metal and combustive elements. Castiel can find nothing in it that indicates life. He hardly understood why the car had force, and why it doesn't now makes less sense. He sets this aside as something to be considered after he finds this creature.

Instead he follows that trail in mind. It's not so bright and fading fast, but it's enough that he can follow it through the world and it – it has a companion. Two trails, stronger and vibrant when entwined, but both frail like the essence of the human soul. Interesting.

The trail goes west, and Castiel follows. Because this could be a tipping point in this war. Because this could be something substantial. And because Dean asked.

* * *

Bobby finally arrives on the morning of their third day at the Riverside Hotel. He parks his tow truck by the Impala; the "Singer Salvage" logo on the side is so faded and cracked that Dean wonders when he last rolled it out of storage. Dean has never been so grateful to the see the cranky old bastard; he gets itchy when he stays settled for too long. Too long to think about the past year – to long to think about _what now?_

"Well, she's dead alright," Bobby says after spending thirty minutes under the hood of the Impala. "Your daddy would weep."

"Not before he killed me," Dean replies, "and it's not even my fault." They haven't heard from Castiel at all since he left. It's not like this is the first time Castiel has taken longer than expected on recon, but Dean would be happier if he knew exactly what Castiel is doing.

"Yeah, well, she's an old girl and she's seen it all. She was gonna go sometime."

"Whoa whoa, no one is going anywhere!" Bobby doesn't respond as he aligns the tow truck and the Impala. When he gets back out again, Dean adds, "Seriously, she's gonna be fine. This isn't a big deal."

"Dean." Bobby meets his eyes and shakes his head. "We'll take a look at her when we get to the yard."

"Thank you." Dean helps him attach the chains, carefully and with as much love as he has. _Come on, baby, you can't die on me now. _He clears his throat. "Any word from the great white north?"

"Actually, no," Bobby says, standing straight for a minute. "I completely forgot about that. We'll give 'em a call when we get back, but Garth would've called if anything went wrong."

Once the Impala is secure on the truck they get Sam, still engrossed in his laptop, and cram in for the long drive north. "Hard reading?" Bobby asks when Sam sighs under his breath and leans closer to his laptop screen. He doesn't even do that mobile broadband shit – Dean has no idea what he's reading.

"This case is huge." Sam closes the laptop and balances it on his lap. "Okay, so Canada has earthquakes and dinosaurs, right?"

"Yeah, Garth is on it," Dean says, trying his damnedest to sound convincing.

"Who's Garth?" Sam asks, looking momentarily derailed.

"No one," Bobby chimes in. "You got weirder than earthquakes and dinosaurs?"

"I've got apocalyptic seals."

The whole truck goes silent, and suddenly I-90 seems to stretch out forever in front of them. Dean's can feel the sweat forming on his neck when he finally manages to say, "A little late for that, isn't it?"

"Sure – especially since these seals were already broken." Sam flips the laptop back open to reread something, moving his lips along. "We have witnesses in Los Angeles, witches attempting to raise Samhain, no deaths in this one city for 24 hours – all in the last day. Something is definitely wrong here."

"Angels?" Bobby asks. It seems like he's driving just a bit faster, and Dean wouldn't blame him for booking it home. "Are these seals one-time deals, or do they get to try again?"

"They can't try again, we killed the key to his cage, remember?" Dean considers calling Castiel, but then remembers that he's wedged between an old hunter and his brother. There isn't room for an angel with personal space issues. "Lilith can't be killed to open the door if she's already dead."

"True." Sam sighs, and Dean nods in silent agreement. The idea of having an apocalyptic do-over is enough to make Dean want to call it quits on the world. Just pack it in and have a beer and let it fucking happen. "I dunno, we should look into it, at least, right?"

"Damn right," Bobby says. "When we get back."

* * *

The trail stops at a hotel in Albuquerque. The trail stops and the thrum of that latent energy is strong. He asserts himself inside room 509 and promptly finds his body frozen. It's an interesting sensation. He can still move outside his vessel, slip quickly out of it if he wishes, but Jimmy's body is held immobile. Time has paused.

A woman with long hair is standing in front of him, her face contorted in pain as she holds out a single hand with her palm facing Jimmy. Another woman rushes forward to pull the woman's hand down. Castiel waits, unwilling to abandon Jimmy to forces unknown. "Don't!" the smaller woman says. "He's good. He owns my Dean."

"I do not own Dean," Castiel replies once his vessel obeys. Time is shifting again; Castiel can see the strands spring back into place. "My mark is not that encompassing."

"It's not about your mark," the woman says. She comes closer, squinting at his face and moving in a circle around him. "You look so strange like this. Why are you here?"

"I'm looking for her," Castiel considers the two of them. The one with the long hair is stronger – she almost feels like an angel, except everything about her is very different. She's no demon either... He looks in her eyes. Revealed like that, she seems too old and too tired for the body she inhabits. She's sits on the bed, leaning back and watching with some confusion and a bit of disinterest. She runs a hand through her dark hair. "She may have damaged Dean's car."

The short-haired woman throws back her head as she laughs laughs, bracing herself with a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Me? Oh no, I'm fine, thank you. I'm just helping her find the Doctor."

Castiel furrows his brows and steps closer to the woman on the bed. "You're no angel. Where did Raphael find you?"

The woman raises both eyebrows. "I work for no one," she says. "Are the Judeo-Christian angels looking for my Doctor as well? Troublesome..." She looks over to her accomplice. "We can't have him here for too long, things get broken."

Castiel can barely make sense of her speech, the way she jumps from topic to topic like Sam when he's had too much to drink. "Who is the doctor?"

The woman holding his shoulder nods and leans close to him. When she touches his cheek he feels it, and his eyes go wide from shock. It's impossible. Dean won't believe him even if he tries, even as the woman says, "It's a long story, and we need to work fast. Tell Dean not to worry; I'll be his again soon. In the mean time – "

* * *

This time when the house comes into focus River is a couple decades farther ahead than expected. That's the problem with stealing someone else's tools – they never quite fit. She peers at the vortex manipulator attached to her wrist and squints. It's Amy's time – somewhere across the ocean her parents are probably having dinner. She shakes the thought away.

The house is showing its age, and the surrounding salvage yard has the overgrown look that those sort of yards get when they become more junk than salvage. River takes the porch steps two at a time and peers in the front window, through gauzy yellowed curtains that had certainly once been white. Thankfully, _finally_, there they are. "Perfect," she breathes. The door has been left unlocked; she lets herself in, turning the corner into the kitchen. The three men are just starting to look toward her.

"Do you have any idea how hard you two are to find?" She sighs and shakes her head, but smiles at their immediate exasperation. "I must've hit four different time periods in this house." She squints at the old man, looks down at her wrist again. Surely it hasn't been that long, the poor bastard. "Last time I was here, you were younger with a blushing bride. By the looks of the place, she's long gone." All three men, young and old, glare at her like she's stabbed them. River pulls her gun from her holster, even knowing that the Doctor wouldn't approve, and levels it at the tall one's head. "So, tell me now – what did you do with the Doctor?"

"Seriously? What is with this _doctor_?" the other young man says. His gun comes out from behind a pile of books on the table; he doesn't hesitate to aim for her. His stance is good, his hands steady – River is impressed. "I'm tired of hearing about him, and I want some answers. Who the hell is the Doctor?"

River raises an eyebrow and looks from tall to shorter to old. "You don't have him?"

Young-with-a-gun rolls his shoulders and his scowl deepens. "If I did, I would give him back just to shut you people up."

"You people? Who exactly has been asking after the Doctor?" River holsters her own gun without taking her eyes off of him. He pointedly doesn't lower his weapon, and River actually appreciates the honesty of the gesture. "Here's the thing, boys; I have a trail that leads right to you, and the only thing in the world that looks like this on a scanner is the TARDIS."

"Never heard of it," young-with-a-gun replies. He finally lowers the weapon, but not so far that he can't change his mind. River smirks. "It was another chick that asked after him. Sam?"

"She was youngish," the tall one says. "She was a little scattered. Shorter than Dean. Long hair, sort of dark skinned. She kept saying that he called her 'sexy,' which... seemed sort of strange, to be honest."

The smile drops of her face, and River shakes her head. "Oh. Oh no, that's impossible..." River steps back outside the house, walks the perimeter as she considers it. The Doctor mentioned once upon a time a planet that ate ships and – it doesn't seem possible at all. She ducks back into the house. The three men stop whatever they're talking about to stare at her again. "Sexy – she said sexy _specifically_?"

"Yeah," Dean says. The gun has been replaced with a beer, and it's already half empty. "He calls her sexy and they've been together for 700 years. Seriously. Nutty."

That seals it. River walks around the house for a couple more laps, trying to process the idea that the TARDIS is running around the Earth in a human form. If that's how things are going, then it's much worse than River thought. The Doctor being kidnapped was nothing – River has busted the Doctor out of a couple tight spots without the world being the wiser. But if the TARDIS is out and about and her body is collecting dust somewhere... She enters the house a third time.

"You still here?" the old one says when she steps in the kitchen. "We got some serious stuff going on here, so if you don't mind either stayin' or goin', I'd like to be able to focus on one thing at a time."

"I'm in," she says, dropping into a chair that looks like it hasn't been cleaned since 1983 and propping her feet up on the table between two piles of books that have to be at least a couple centuries old. "Nice collection here, gentlemen. I suppose I should introduce myself – I'm Doctor River Song. Not the same Doctor. Archeologist, before you ask. From what I gather, the big one is Sam, the violent one is Dean, and the old one owns the house, am I right?"

"That's right," the old one says. "Bobby, thanks for asking. Now why don't you tell us about the doctor?"

"Bobby!" Dean says, then turns to her. "Look, I'm sure this doctor of yours is really important. We'll be glad to give you a hand when we get our own shit worked out, but right now we've got our hands full. Can't you see another doctor?"

"Another – Oh, look at you, you have no idea." River lowers her legs and leans forward, looking him square in the eye. "For every miserable day that you've had to wake up, get drunk, and fall asleep lonely you have the Doctor to thank. That man has saved this world more times than you could ever comprehend. You should be glad to help find him."

"He saved the world? _He_ saved the world?" Dean stalks a trail to the trash can, and his bottle breaks when it hits the bottom. "The things I could tell you about saving the world – "

"Dean," Sam says, stepping between them and looking from River to Dean. He squints at her and says, "You said last time you were here. Dean, I think..." Sam looks as though he's trying to wrap his mind around a particularly complicated math problem – to be fair, River considers, he is – and pulls a chair to sit across from her. "Can I see your gun?"

River complies, and Sam looks at it carefully, considers it from every angle. Bobby is watching from a careful distance, but Dean comes in close over Sam's shoulder, muttering to himself. Sam is as careful as Dean when he handles a firearm; River can spot the signs a mile away. "Do you see what you're looking for?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow when Sam looks up at her again. He nods, and hands the gun back to her.

"That's not modern technology," he says finally, quietly. "You're not from this time, are you?"

"Got it in one, big boy," River says, holding up her wrist. "Bona fide time travel device not for the faint of heart, and this is the small one. You're smart. I like that. I tell you what, boys. Let's swap stories. You first – what's such a big deal here?"

"Apocalypse," Bobby says. When River shoots him a disbelieving look, he makes a sour face. "Don't look at me like that, like time travel is somehow more believable. You know anything about the nasty weather last year – earthquakes, tsunamis, all that?"

River shakes her head. "This isn't my usual timeline, and when I'm here I stick to the other side of the Atlantic. I may have heard a thing or two about some weird weather."

Dean scoffs. "Well, you're looking at the three unsung heroes of the apocalypse. It was a pain in the ass. We nearly died. And you tell us the doctor saves the world."

"In what you consider the last year he stopped this planet from being incinerated. He rewrote the universe to stop it from collapse."

"Well, there you go!" Bobby picks up a book, and opens it to a tattered leather bookmark. "Sounds an awful lot like an apocalypse to me."

River would have taken more time to consider this if not for the loud crash as something landed square in the middle of the table. The wood splintered and cracked in two under the force. River dodges fkying books and watches one of the table's legs skitter across the tile floor. When the dust settles she realizes that _something_ is actually _someone_. "Well. This is just going to get more complex, isn't it?"

* * *

It's nearly dark before they get the kitchen back in order – including taking the shards of the table out outside and retrieving a rickety card table from the basement. It might have gone faster, if Dean hadn't stopped every couple of minutes to see if Castiel had woke up from his rendezvous with Bobby's kitchen floor, but no dice. So far no one had decided to try to explain angels to River, not in the least because she took to explaining the Doctor while they cleaned up and eventually made some dinner.

"So you think the weird woman all up on my car was his – his spaceship," Dean says. Truthfully, he's passed his event horizon for weird. At some point between _time travel_ and _spaceship _he just gave in. Maybe he would wake up soon, but in the mean time there was nothing to do but deal.

"TARDIS," she insists. "It's much more complex than a spaceship, and this is bad. She can't sustain a human form for long. If she's looking for the Doctor, things are much worse than anticipated." River accepts scotch on the rocks when offered, and they migrate to the living room where Castiel is still out like a dead man. Dean reminds himself that the lack of breath is normal for an angel. "And you say your apocalypse is repeating itself?" She says it with about as much belief as Dean can muster for _spaceship_, so he figures that they're at least on equal planes of _what the hell_.

"Yeah," Sam says. He's sitting with a cup of coffee and glued to his damn laptop again. When Dean last asked he said he was following the feeds on all the right news sites to catch news a more weird occurences. "And unfortunately, our source on all things angel is currently out."

River snorts and stares at him for a long time; she seems to force herself to look away and close her eyes. "Not what I expect when you say angel," she says finally, looking over at Dean. "So, the TARDIS came to you two, and asked for help."

"Well, no," Dean says. His scotch is somewhere between gut-rot and tolerable, and leans back in the arm chair and tries to remember exactly what it was she said. "It was something about needing our magic, and then that we were wrong."

"Magic," River scoffs. "That ship is so whimsical."

"She's a ship." Dean jumps, turning his attention to where Castiel was laying just a second ago – except now he's sitting up, rubbing his head and staring at River. "You are out of order."

River nods. "You're observant."

Castiel nods briefly as though in thanks – Dean really needs to get to that explanation of sarcasm – and turns to Dean. "I have something to tell you. You're not going to be pleased."

"My day is a whole lot of not pleased." Dean resists the urge to check Castiel for bruises or wounds. There would be none, after all. "What got the drop on you?"

"The Impala." The silence stretches just a little too long before Castiel adds, "In the vessel of a woman." When no one speaks again, Castiel continues, "The ship and the Impala are looking for the doctor. Do you know anything?"

Dean buries his face in his hands, and listens helplessly as Sam says, "Let me fill you in..."


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

"When you last saw the Doctor he didn't want to be found," Sam says. He's covered the card table in a crude timeline designed with small colored Post-Its. Castiel squints at it, all of time simplified into three lines: pink for the Winchesters, blue for the Doctor, and yellow for events that neither touched.

Thus far Sam and River had rearranged the scope of the timelines three times,trying to pinpoint the last time the Doctor visited their general timeline – if he had at all. Even Castiel is having trouble keeping track of it. Its not the intersecting timelines; that's nothing new. It's the Doctor. River speaks of him the way that angels speak of God, and it makes him uneasy. Castiel has spent a long time trying to find his Father. Trying to find another being as elusive is not appealing.

"That's right," River says. She looks as frustrated as Castiel feels, and as she leans back in her seat she sighs. "We need to do recon – see if anyone associated with the Doctor has seen him. He has a habit of visiting old friends before things go wrong, but that's a big list."

"Sounds flashy. How big are we talking?" Dean says, scowling at the table as though it has offended him. He hasn't said much since Castiel told him all about the Impala taking a human vessel – _Demons possess people, Cas, not my fucking car! _As though it was somehow Castiel's fault. Then again, what had he expected? Dean had never responded graciously to bad news.

River fiddles with her wristband as though she's looking for something. Then her face lights up and she smiles. "Well, that's an interesting read. We're going to have to split up. Dean, with me; I like a man that can handle a gun. Cas?"

"Castiel," Dean says.

Castiel frowns at him, but turns his attention to River. She takes a moment longer to look away from Dean and ask Castiel, "Can you find someone for me?"

"I can find anyone who is not hiding from me," Castiel says, pushing himself to his feet. Whatever the Impala has done – and however she had done it – has taken a toll on him, even after taking time to recover. "Who do you have in mind?"

After a moment's hesitation, River nods. "Amy Pond. She's a woman in the United Kingdom, married to my – to a man named Rory. They were with the Doctor most recently. Tell them River sent you."

The task seems small, but Castiel is relieved to make himself useful. "I'll come back as soon as I have information." He considers bidding Dean goodbye, but Dean's expression is as closed off as ever. It's been getting worse since Lilith's death, something growing between them during Sam's detox and Castiel realizing that ending the Apocalypse on Earth didn't mean the war was won in Heaven.

He leaves instead, stretching his senses carefully. First to the United Kingdom. Then north, to a small town named Leadworth. Every stop brings him a little closer, until he finally hones in on one house packed in a tight row with a bright red car out front. Dean would have appreciated it. Cautiously, Castiel checks. The car is just metal and chemicals.

Then it hits him – the faint sign of the TARDIS, so faint that he almost can't catch it. He can't follow it, not while tethered to Jimmy; it stretches too far outside this world, and is fading too fast. Castiel storms into the house. "Amy Pond!" he calls out. A mirror cracks and the door slams shut behind him. A red-headed woman comes down the stairs with a bat extended in front of her. "River sent me."

She softens noticeably, but keeps her flimsy weapon extended. "Where is she?"

"There's no time. Guard this man." Before Castiel leaves, he pauses to add, "He will be hungry, and is fond of red meat." And with that Castiel leaves his vessel behind, hoping that Jimmy understands, hoping that Jimmy will forgive him for the torture of brief freedom.

Everything is so much easier once he's between planes, away from the Earth and into what humans call space. Once he's free of the obfuscation of a vessel Castiel can follow the trail more clearly, understand better what she is. With the physical world behind he can see the majesty of her design as she carried her charges through space and time as though she was little more than their mode of transportation. He follows her trail like a train on a railway, touching her remnants with his grace.

Like this, as stars and planets that humans cannot fathom rush past, Castiel feels her. Understands her love, her frustration, her dedication. The frailty of a love that cannot be attained, of connecting to another creature so totally beyond reason. When Castiel finds her last stop and pulls himself into another plane, another planet, he almost misses the impression of her.

He's surprised not to find her. There's no trail away from this place. It just ends at the corner of a dark stone hall with very little light. Without a vessel he can not interact, but truthfully he does not wish to. This place is a tomb, and Castiel cannot fathom why she lead him to this place. It reeks with a taint of something old and wicked, and Castiel explores quickly.

Of several pedestals – each holding one box – one in particular catches Castiel's attention. It takes him a moment to realize this is because it speaks, though it does so in a language he is unaccustomed to. He must weaken his senses, stretch his understanding before he comprehends the words.

" – and don't think that I won't scream," the box says. It's haughty and touched by fear. "Go on! I'd rather have the monks than you lot."

"Us," Castiel says before he considers the problem of his voice. The room rattles. The box responds.

"If I had feet I would be right out there – "

"You're dead," Castiel says as the understanding strikes him. He lets his grace touch the box, just so, and shudders as he realizes what he beholds. "Your soul is the victim of an ugly violation."

"Well, call it what you will, just do it from far away. I told you, you couldn't hold him for long."

"I have never been here," Castiel replies. "But you have met my brothers. And when you say him, do you speak of the Doctor?" The box goes resolutely silent, but Castiel doesn't need to hear more. He understands, and it's enough. Before the box can speak again, Castiel is gone.

* * *

Dean shakes his head when they touch back down in Bobby's kitchen. "I am _never_ doing that again." The lead had been a bust, making the resulting queasiness from travel that much worse. It felt exactly like tumbling through time with Castiel. Like being compacted and thrown, with a side dish of motion sickness for good measure. "I'm going to be sick." Dean replies, closing his eyes. He's not such a big fan of when angels zap to and fro, and it's not any better when sufficiently advanced time travelers do it.

"That was fast," Sam says as Dean leans against the wall and waits for his stomach to settle. His knees are weak. "Any news?"

"We visited some old friends," River says. She sounds completely unaffected by the experience, and Dean hates her just a little bit. He has a list these days, and right now "The Doctor" at the top of it. Whatever the guy is going, if he just _hadn't done it_ his car wouldn't be traipsing about in some poor woman's body. "No word since the Doctor's death, but they're a sneaky bunch – they'll keep an eye open."

"Space cops. We visited a police station in space." Dean takes a deep breath, and finally feels like he's regaining control of his body. "Any word from Cas?"

Sam looks up from under his shaggy hair. "It's been literally five minutes."

"Yeah, well, Cas travels Instant Air as well."

Sam clears his throat and closes his laptop. He has a look on his face – Dean knows Sam's look well enough to know a speech is coming. His expression is all concern and frustration. "You've been giving him a kind of cold shoulder lately. He didn't deserve the way you ripped into him when he told you about the Impala."

Dean closes his eyes again, and he clears his throat. "He's a big angel, Sam. He doesn't need a white knight."

"Doesn't mean we can't look out for him."

"Man, look at you, mother hen. I'm going outside." With that Dean grabs a beer off the counter and . The Impala is sitting out in the salvage yard, dead on her wheels between a beat-up Dodge and a gutted F150. He sits on the hood and pops the cap off the beer with his key chain. The breeze is beautiful and dawn is blooming on the horizon. Suddenly Dean is exhausted and can't remember when he last laid down to sleep. "Baby, why are you doing this to me? You know we're better than possession, right? I mean, our whole lives have been about stopping that kind of shit."

"Just so we're clear, are you giving the Impala a self-righteous speech?"

Dean looks over to where Sam is crossing the lawn toward him, arms crossed over his chest as he walks. "It makes me feel better."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Dean, you can't just keep running on sheer anger and alcohol, alright? You're doing a piss-poor job of hiding the fact that something's bothering you. When you're pissed off, you just piss off the people around you. We need you to get your act together." Sam clears his throat and speaks gentler. "You look like shit. Get some sleep."

"Got things to do, if I'm gonna get my _act_ together."

"Dean, don't be like that." When Dean says nothing in response, Sam adds, "If you don't go get some sleep, I'm going to start talking about my feelings in precise and unsettling detail."

This gets Dean to move, and he gives Sam a wide berth as he walks back into the house. He drops his beer into the trash before he heads upstairs.

He doesn't even remember falling into bed.

* * *

The Impala clicks the safety on the handgun and slides it into a thigh holster she took from Dean's trunk stash before they left. She wonders if he's missed the gun yet. "It's definitely angels," she says softly, looking back to where the TARDIS rests with an arm thrown over her eyes. It's been hours since they returned from their recon, and the TARDIS doesn't look any better for resting. "Why would angels want the Doctor?"

"There's no reason for these angels to take him," the TARDIS says, her words clipped and hard. "He doesn't pose them any threat, so they must need him out of the way. This unraveling of time is deliberate. Someone is tugging away threads, trying to find something. I can feel it as surely as if they were pulling it from my body." She runs a palm over her sweat-dotted forehead. "It hurts."

Biting her lower lip, the Impala pulls the blinds of the room closed and sits at the TARDIS' side, touching her shoulder. Even through the fabric of her t-shirt the Impala can feel that she's burning up. It can't possibly be that long before they both burn out of these bodies. She doesn't feel it the way the TARDIS does, but she's still aware. She can still feel time ticking away under her skin. "Is there anything I can do? Can't we block it out somehow?"

"No. I need to feel it to know how much time we have before it all collapses." The TARDIS looks out from under her arm and looks up at the Impala with sad eyes. "Didn't I tell you not to worry, Baby? We'll find my Doctor. He's not dead – I would know, as surely as you would if you lost one of your boys. You know these angels, where would they put him?"

The Impala lays out on her stomach; their legs just touch, and Impala finds the sensation distracting. Having a body like this is unusual enough, and even more so when she's reminded of how functional it could be. "I can't say for certain. Each angel is different, and the only angel I know closely would never bring harm to this world."

"The angel from earlier."

"Castiel. He would help us if we asked."

The TARDIS shakes her head and takes a deep breath. "No, it's not safe." They lay in silence, and the Impala listens to the TARDIS' uneasy breathing. She lays a hand softly on the TARDIS' chest. "We'll come up with something," the TARDIS says. "I just need to think."

* * *

Castiel finds his way back to the little house in Leadworth and is a little shocked to find that the time of day has changed. It's now a rainy afternoon, instead of a late night it had been when he left Jimmy behind. Jimmy is sitting on a couch with the redhead – Amy Pond – and a man that Castiel has not met. _Rory_, River said. They're drinking dark tea from large mugs.

Jimmy looks tired, physically worn beyond his years. He's changed into clothes that aren't his; jeans and a dark long-sleeved shirt that seem out of place of his vessel – on Jimmy's body, he reminds himself. When Castiel lets himself settle in the room a radio switches on, quite unexpectedly, and Jimmy looks over to it. "There he is. Took you long enough, Castiel."

"The angel?" Rory says, tensing instantly.

"Don't worry, he's only here for me." Jimmy scowls at the radio like it's brought him some doom. He's so different from the devout man who had agreed to save the world; there's no light in his face, no joy in his words.

_You can say no,_ Castiel says; the radio hisses, high-pitched across the static. Amy and Rory wince.

"Now? In the middle of all this? You know as well as I do that you need me, and I also know who your alternative vessel is if I say no." At this Jimmy looks down at his hands, down at his wedding band. He pulls it off and examines in carefully. Castiel can feel his anguish, his wants. "This was cruel, Castiel."

_It was necessary._

A lightbulb bursts, and Amy jumps to her feet. "Jimmy, don't."

Jimmy looks over to her and manages a small smile. He sets his wedding band onto their coffee table. "Thank you, you've been very kind. Yes, Castiel. I still consent to be your vessel. Amy, Rory – avert your eyes."

Castiel finds that he hesitates, briefly, before he moves to inhabit the vessel that he's too often considered his own flesh. His brothers, his Father, would be appalled by the very idea. He finds the familiar fit inside Jimmy's skin. He compresses himself until he's small and nestled within Jimmy's beating heart, then expands, floods away like blood as he fills every inch of Jimmy's body, reclaims arms and legs and creating a safe place for Jimmy within his own mind._ I'm sorry. _

When he is done Amy and Rory are crouched and protecting their heads. "It is safe," he says, readjusting to the way his voice has never quite come out like Jimmy's.

Amy jumps to her feet and shoves him, the motion so unexpected that he stumbles in place. "How could you? He was a nice man – he has a family! A daughter!"

"He consented," Castiel says, a pang within him at the thought of Jimmy's family – his Amelia's wide-eyed horror, at the gentle innocence of Claire's mind. He leans down to take Jimmy's wedding band from the table, and slips it into his pocket. He can find a safe place for it when he returns to Bobby's home.

"Under duress! Because – "

"Enough," Castiel says, looking away from her. She turns back to her husband, who seems less angry and more curious. She turns into his arms and he holds her close. It looks like a beautiful comfort. "How long was I away?"

"Two days," Rory says.

"That's too long," Castiel says. "Has Jimmy told you about the Doctor?" Amy looks back, venom still in her eyes, and nods. "Good, I must go." He turns to go, but finds an hand tight around arm. He looks at Amy. He knows what she will say, and is glad for it.

"Not without us. You have my daughter, and I'm not going to sit by while the Doctor is in trouble."

Castiel nods. "Hold on, then."

* * *

"You think you can imprison me in _time_?" the Doctor snaps when the world rights itself. "Do you have the first clue who I am?" A cursory glance tells him that this place is an abandoned pocket of time. Somewhere outside Earth's stream, an abandoned possibility. Clumps of trees nearly block the view of cabins, each connected by a trail worn into the dirt. "I'll be out of here in time for lunch."

"How?" The angel is dark-skinned and speaks with authority. His strength is obvious in his every movement. The air crackles as if burning around him. The Doctor grins wide and spreads his arms; ever since he helped an archangel sneak into the Norse pantheon he has trouble taking them seriously, even with the showy sound effects.

"You have no idea the connections I have."

"Use them." The angel indicates the world around them and fixes the Doctor with an even expression. "You cannot. You are perfectly sealed here."

"I won't do it," the Doctor says, shoving his hands in his pockets. The sonic was still nestled deep there, safe and whole. Whether it was overlooked or deliberately ignored, he isn't sure – he just knows that they're going to regret it. "You have no idea what you're doing."

The angel snorts. "We're not asking a lot of you, Doctor. You can still steward the _humans _when it's all over, if that pleases you. I don't even care if you make them an arc – it worked for Noah. The offer is just. Your total freedom, if you will go back and fix the detail you changed."

"No can do. This one is fixed. Those boys were meant to stop your self-centered little apocalypse." The Doctor rolls his eyes and leans against a nearby tree, glancing at the ramshackle cabin to his left. "And how blasé, an _apocalypse_. You religious types."

At this the angel actually laughs. "You are not the only one who can play with time; even as I speak Heaven is rearranging the world, finding a way to undo your meddling. You had no business interfering with God's plan."

"There is no plan. Trust me, I met your god once or twice. He's not a planner."

The angel waves a hand as though to dismiss the idea entirely. "When you're ready to help us unlock Lucifer as was _planned_, pray for Raphael. I will come, and I will set you free." Raphael does another turn, surveying the setting. "I have an inferior with a knack for creating these little bubbles. I do believe this is one of his favorite hells. Enjoy it."

With that the angel is gone, and the Doctor is left to his own devices. First things first – he pulls the sonic from a pocket and runs a quick scan of the area, looking for something to give him an idea of _what_ this place is supposed to be. There's a pit in his stomach that he can't place, and he needs to contact the TARDIS. The more the angels play with time – and boy, was their father going to get an earful about hiring a responsible babysitter – the harder it would be to find her.

"This is nothing," the Doctor says, following a defined path into a nearby wooded area. "I've gotten out of death, I can get out of this."

The small woods aren't large, and trees have been pruned and chopped down to the bark. The Doctor scans the area. The woods end, and the Doctor finds himself staring at a strong man with hard eyes and a large gun. "Oh, hello," the Doctor says, smiling and shoving his screwdriver in his pocket. "Dean Winchester, how doyou do?"

Dean's glare narrows, and a man comes up behind him. Dean ignores the hand on his shoulder and doesn't take his eyes off the Doctor. "Have we met?"

"Absolutely! Well, not really, but I have watched you and you're distinct at any time. Tell me, where's that brother of yours?" The gun cocks, and the Doctor ducks reflexively. "Hold on! What on earth?"

"Dean," the man behind Dean says; the Doctor feels like he should recognize him, and doesn't until he looks further, just beyond the man's shoulders. Anger coils in his chest, and his hearts beat a little faster "Dean. Wait. He's not from here."

"Neither are you." The Doctor glares at Dean, at his gun and his posture, and straightens the lapels of his jacket. "Look at this, Dean Winchester, destined to failure in all time lines. All the people he loves, doomed to death and disaster. At least you have something to shoot at, right? I bet that makes you very happy."

A peculiar expression crosses Dean's face, and Castiel's hand tightens on his shoulder. For a tense second the Doctor is sure Dean is going to pull the trigger – and he's gotten rather fond of his body, too – but then Dean lowers the gun. "Follow me," he snaps. "And shut up."


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

On the second night of Castiel's absence Dean just drinks. Sam is accompanying River on some other goose chase. And Dean finds drinking alone to be the very best drinking.

Drinking alone means that he's not thinking alone. Stretched out on the couch and letting _Back to the Future_ play in the background, Dean nurses his drink and resolutely doesn't think as he watches the light of the television splashes shadows on the ceiling. "Any chance that another round of prayers will get your attention, Castiel?" he says quietly to himself, unsure if the churning in his stomach is too much to drink or worry.

"You've been doing that an awful lot." Dean looks over as Bobby walks in, his kit slung over his shoulder and shotgun tucked under one arm. "Praying, I mean. When'd he become your guardian angel?"

Dean shakes his head. "Just an angel that follows me around."

"Follows you around. Sure." Bobby adjusts his hat and shifts his pack. "It's just that I see an awful lot of you moping and him not showing up. You gonna die of heartbreak if I leave you here alone?"

"Don't be a dick, Bobby," Dean says, shifting to sit up. "I do not mope."

"Fine – let's call it 'pining' then and pretend that's different."

"I'm not," Dean protests, downing the dregs of his drink, the whiskey watered down by ice. "I've never pined in my life."

"You keep telling yourself that. In the mean time, we got creepy kids eatin' their parents the next town over. I'll be back tomorrow." Bobby leaves without any more accusations of feelings, and Dean pours himself another drink. Unfortunately, it has turned into thinking alone, regardless of how much more drinking he drowns it in.

The noise like wings comes a split second before the space Bobby abandoned is suddenly a lot more full. Dean perks up. "Cas!" Except it's not just Castiel – there's also a red-head that for a split second Dean thinks is Anna and a guy who looks like someone Sam would've hung out with in high school. "Damn it, Cas, I've been calling!"

Castiel stares at him for too long, and Dean takes a long sip of his drink to keep the buzz rolling. "I left the planet," Castiel says finally. "I did not realize it took me two days."

"Did you find anything?" The strangers sit awkwardly on the loveseat, and Dean notices that they're holding hands. He turns to Castiel who is squinting at Dean like he's trying to understand something.

Dean loses the staring contest, and instead asks, "Where are your clothes?"

"Jimmy looked ridiculous in that monkey suit," the red-head says. That's apparently all it takes before the air of tension around her turns into something more gregarious, and she smiles. "You must be Dean. I'm Amy. This one is Rory, my husband." Rory waves a bit awkwardly, examining his surroundings as if taking very careful notes. Yeah, he was going to get on with Sam like a house on fire. Amy continues at Dean, "We both traveled with the doctor. Now, where is River? I need to talk to her."

"She's with my brother looking for someone, I can't remember who, and what do you mean Jimmy looked ridiculous?" He looks back at Castiel, who looks entirely out of place in clothes that any normal guy would wear, like he's just a dude. It's disquieting. "How does she know about Jimmy?"

"I had to leave him behind on Earth. I could not sustain the speed necessary to follow the TARDIS and keep him in one piece. He stayed with them." Castiel finds a corner of the room and leans against the wall, staring at his hands. He looks weary, and Dean wonders where that expression came from. Last he checked, Castiel was just barely managing facial expressions between 'bored' and 'worried.' "I can go find River, if necessary."

"Not necessary," Sam says, entering the room with a skip in his step. His cheeks are flushed like a kid coming off a roller coaster, and River is on his heels. "I just saw a military base in space. I just met alien soldiers."

"It gets mundane eventually, trust me," River says. She lights up when she sees Amy; she hugs both Amy and Rory, and Dean wonders if they're related. They don't look related, but that doesn't mean everything. Sam is immediately crouched in front of his laptop on the coffee table, checking what he's dubbed as the Armageddon Feed. "Have you seen him?"

"No," Amy says, "but the angel knows something."

The room goes silent as every looks at Castiel, who looks up as though pulled out of a daydream. "My brothers have taken the Doctor. They've erased his energy from this world, which is why we can't find him. I met an abomination that confirms it."

"Why would angels want the Doctor?" River sits back. "The Doctor hasn't even mentioned your brand of angel – if you weren't here in front of me, I wouldn't believe it."

"I wish I knew. I have a... contact in Heaven. One I believe to be unbiased. He has been less than helpful in my previous inquiries, but perhaps this time he will more forthcoming."

"In Heaven?" Dean asks. Amy rolls her eyes at the word and looks away from Castiel. "So, what, you're headed off again? You think that's such a good idea?"

Castiel scowls at him. "No one can do this but me; Heaven is not easy to travel to as space."

"Cas, you can't just – "

"I will return when I have news," Castiel snaps, gone at the same second he finishes speaking.

"Stubborn fucking angels," Dean says under his breath, closing his eyes. This was stupid. They were fighting over nearly nothing these days, and it was just getting worse. "What do we have? Do we actually have anything?"

"Venice is rising."

"What?" Rory says, crossing the room to where Sam is scowling at his computer. They crouch shoulder-to-shoulder while they read. "I've been there – its sinking. Water everywhere."

"Well, it's supposed to be sinking," Sam says. "The water level is dropping. No one can explain it, but it's happening fast."

"May I?" Sam nods, and Rory pulls the computer close to him. After a couple of minutes and what sounds like a couple Google searches, he adds, "It's not just Venice. The Parthenon seems to be rebuilding itself."

"So, time is going backwards?" Amy looks around at them. "That's what that'd take – time reversing. These angels have taken the Doctor and are rewinding time? Why?"

Dean meets Sam's eyes, but neither of them can quite bring themselves to say it. It's been a long fucking year, and the last thing Dean wants to consider is that they might be facing Apocalypse 2: Apocalypse Harder. "We'll figure it out," Dean says. "Cas will find something."

* * *

Castiel ducks through the back doors and side alleys of Heaven, so to speak; he cuts through individual paradises and is careful to avoid the parts of Heaven he knows to be more densely populated. Thankfully it's a journey he's made before; finding the garden is no so difficult a second time.

Joshua is tending an aloe plant as Castiel winds his way between towering Sequoia trees, fledgling wheat whispering past his legs as he follows the dirt path to where Joshua works. "Hello brother," Joshua says without looking up from his delicate work. "Surely you have not come again to ask after our Father."

"No," Castiel replies. "Though if you have changed your mind, I would be glad of it."

"I have not." Joshua smiles up at him, but the expression does not bring Castiel joy. Instead his stomach knots, and he clears his throat. This expression of nerves is entirely too human, and he can see that thought in Joshua's eyes. The human form that Joshua projects is merely for Castiel's appeasement. Joshua looks away, pouring water over his plants. "Have you come about Raphael's new plan, then?"

"Is it Raphael at the center of this?"

"He is." Joshua moves to lush rose bush and prunes the weakest blooms; they disappear before they hit the ground. "He has found a new way to beat you – using his brute force against the world instead. You should be glad, Castiel. Before this, the path you were walking was your end."

Worry coils in his heart, but he pays it no mind. There are more important concerns. "Why does Raphael have the Doctor?"

Joshua looks over from his work, but his hands never still. "The Doctor is a curious creature. God did not craft him – he has no business in our affairs, and yet he finds his way into them again and again. He averted the apocalypse before it started, and for that Raphael is holding him hostage."

"The Winchesters averted the apocalypse."

"In one time, yes. In this one... they had some help." Joshua's attention falters, and he sets his tools aside. "What do you ask of me, Castiel? It is not my intention to interfere in these matters, any more than I was willing to interfere in your previous quarrels."

"Nothing is beyond God's sight, and I know you still speak to Him. I just want to know what they're doing," Castiel says, close to pleading as he steps closer. "I will take it unto myself to stop them, but I do not understand. The Doctor is a time traveler and can cross planes, but we do not need another being's aid to travel through time."

"But we need another one to change it." Joshua pulls himself to his full height, and in truth he's much taller than Castiel; even as an angel, his form is beyond Castiel's comprehension. He can see the thrum of power beneath the false skin of Joshua's visage, as though it could break apart at any moment. He knows that if Joshua willed it he would never leave this place. "God allowed angels to observe time, but he never gave us the power to change it. Whether we know it or not, our actions are His will. The Doctor isn't one of God's creations, and is not subject to those rules. The Doctor can change the world in delicate, clever ways. Raphael and his ilk are trying to use force to turn back time – to restart Armageddon. They will fail, but they will rip the world apart before they concede defeat."

Castiel takes a step closer to Joshua, but can't force himself any closer. "They want the Doctor to reverse what he changed. What did he change?"

Joshua shakes his head and looks away. "I have given you everything you need."

"You haven't!"

Joshua turns a kind eye toward Castiel. "You are a curious creature, Castiel. In ways you act nearly human. But you cannot borrow Dean Winchester's habit of yelling until it changes something. It will not work here."

Castiel can't explain the rage that spreads through his limbs, has no idea how he's supposed to express it. He wants to lash out. He wants to shout or break something – anything that will make this world start taking him seriously. He's tired of being told how things are going to be, without having a say in his own fate or the fate of the people he –

"It is okay to love, brother," Joshua says softly, as though Castiel had spoken aloud. "But consider that love does not always make us better."

* * *

Dean is pouring coffee at about the same time Bobby rushes through the front door, still dirty and stinking of sweat from whatever had happened with the creepy cannibal children. He doesn't even blink at the extra additions to his kitchen, instead going straight to turn on the television.

" – no one quite understands it," the man on the television says, walking down the street of what looks like some city's historic district. They pass two bewildered police officers, dressed in outdated gear. Dean snorts into his coffee; looks like a couple yahoos got caught in something time-related. "It could be called the most elaborate prank in US history, except the Empire State building – " The camera pans shakily to the skyline.

"Holy shit," Sam breathes at the same time Amy shouts, "No way!"

"According to city historians, that is the Empire State building circa 1930." Someone off camera shouts in a heavy accent, and the screen flashes back to an anchorwoman in a news room. "Still developing, New York City in an uproar this morning. We'll continue updates as we have more on these radical and unexplained circumstances. Residents are advised to stay inside and to lock your doors. We're getting more reports of violence and riots in heavily populated areas."

Dean turns off the television. "Sam, pack up, we're going." He grabs his keys at the same second he remembers that his car is collecting dust for a reason.

"Don't be foolish, I can have us there in minutes." River calibrates her wristband.

"Sam, you go," Dean says, standing back as though she would snatch him out of the air. "No way I'm doing that voluntarily again. Call when you get there. I'll try to contact Cas."

"Keep praying, Dean," River says with a lopsided smirk as he grabs hold of Sam and Rory. They're gone before Dean can retort, and he turns to Bobby, who is staring pointedly at where Amy is attempting to cook breakfast. As far as Dean can tell, Rory is the actual cook in that family.

"Amy Williams," Dean says. "This is Bobby. He owns the place. Bobby, she and her husband were the last people the Doctor traveled with."

"And just when did my house get a revolving door on it?" Bobby grouses, dropping his gear on the floor. He looks like he hasn't slept in far too long, but isn't as put-out as he sounds. "I'm gonna charge this Doctor rent when we find him. I'm takin' a shower, boy. Hold the fort." With that Bobby climbs the stairs. Amy looks over her shoulder at Dean.

"Is he upset?"

"Not really," Dean says. "You get used to it." He excuses himself to the living room and sits on the couch. All this sitting and waiting is the worst – he should have gone with them to New York. If he trusted River with Sam, it wasn't that big a deal, right? Still, he gets reflexively nauseous thinking about it. Before trying to contact Castiel, he checks Sam's news feed – still open on the laptop. It looks like San Francisco is having a weird morning as well. Pictures show helicopters hovering over a Golden Gate Bridge that's still under construction, and long-dead prisoners rioting in Alcatraz. Dean clears his throat.

"My – Our Castiel, who art doing recon in Heaven, please turn on your ringer." He lowers his voice and closes his eyes. One of his patchy memories of his mother is her showing him how to kneel at his bedside, kissing his hair and whispering _Of course God is listening, baby_. He wonders if she believed it. "Come on, Cas. I know we're not really getting along right now, but this is getting really bad. Sam just went to New York with River. Just keep an eye on him for me, okay? Please?"

He smells the food before he sees Amy, who sits down next to him and holds a plate of eggs and toast right in front of him. He sets the laptop aside and thanks her as he takes it. It's not bad. Bland, but hot and cooked through – Dean couldn't have done it better. "You have that much faith in your angel?" she asks.

"He's not my angel, he's just an angel who happens to be my friend."

"Doesn't sound like you're friends right now." Amy leans back with her food on her lap, but just picks at her plate without eating much. "I – How can you let him do that to Jimmy?"

"Jimmy? He..." Dean closes his eyes and clears his throat. "Look, that sucks. I hate that. I met the guy's wife and daughter. He does this for his kid. Angels follow bloodlines, and if it wasn't Jimmy, it was his her."

"That doesn't make it okay. I don't know how you look at him and see anything but a man being held prisoner."

"I met Cas first. He doesn't look like anyone but Cas to me." Dean finds he's lost his appetite, and he swallows before he admits, "It's easy to forget Jimmy."

"I can't," Amy says, leaning forward and setting her plate on the coffee table. Dean follows suit. "All I can think about is what he's stealing from Jimmy. It's a terrible feeling, having your body taken from you."

Dean looks over at her. She's clearly lost in her own world; to call her expression haunted would be to undercut the pain he can see in it. "I'm sorry," he says, staring at his hands to give her some privacy.

"It's okay," Amy says, conviction in her voice. "I mean, no, it's terrible, but there's nothing to do now but keep going. We just – we keep going. We can't wallow in what we can't change."

* * *

Sam can hardly believe his eyes when they touch down in the middle of a damn near abandoned street corner. He half-expects everything to be in that weird sepia tone of old photos. The whole city seems to be under construction, the infrastructure both brand new and complete ancient. "I feel like I should take pictures," he says, touching the side of a building. It's real. It's solid. His heart drops. "What do you think happened to people living in buildings that don't exist anymore?"

"No idea," River says. "But I'm willing to bet that it isn't pretty. Nothing on here that would indicate the Doctor is nearby, but I do have something strange here."

"That would be me," Castiel says from behind them; they turn as he joins them. "Dean told me."

Rory looks around as thought trying to evaluate risks. He reminds Sam of a soldier in his bearing and the way he seems to be looking for all the vantage points. "Any idea of what's going on?"

"Angels are meddling in time. In trying to reset the apocalypse, they're breaking time all over the world. I can see the strands now, and they – " Castiel looks up suddenly, staring at the sky, then down at the ground. "This is not just the angels. This is the TARDIS. Follow me!" He takes off running, and Sam can't think of any time he's seen Castiel run. They follow close behind, as Castiel takes corners without warning, as he speeds up and stops and turns in circles and tilts his head as though he's listening for something. Clearly he's doing something right, because suddenly River's wristband beeps and she squints at it as they run.

"He's right," she says; Sam, behind her, can hear the excitement in her voice. Of the three of them, Rory is keeping pace with Castiel. "This is the TARDIS. West, Castiel!" Castiel obeys, rushing them past old grocery stores, past more and more people who look out of place and confused and agitated. Sam hears sirens in the distance.

They turn a corner to nearly run into the only two other modern people Sam had seen in the past mile: two women, the woman from the hotel seems to be bowed under the weight of her own shoulders and the other has a gun pointed at Castiel before she looks over at him. It's right then when Sam realizes he left Bobby's unarmed. Rory seems poised to jump into action, but her face lights up in a smile as she surveys the group. "Sam! Goodness, you're even bigger than I realized." She reminds him of Cassie, if Cassie had been rougher around the edges and owned a gun – one of _Dean's_ guns.

"I, uh. What?"

"This is the Impala," Castiel says, walking past her without any apparent concern for the gun; the Impala lets her arm fall to he side and walks toward Sam. "And this is the TARDIS."

"This is the Impala?" Sam asks, watching as the short-haired woman walks circles around him, poking him with the muzzle of her gun here and there as though she doesn't understand him. The TARDIS, pulling her posture straight, smiles warmly and Rory and leans forward to ruffle his hair. "Are you sure?"

"Definitely!" she says. She tucks her gun recklessly into the back of her pants and jumps up to wrap her arms around his neck. She uses all her weight to pull him down to her. "You and Dean carved your initials into me," she says in a soft voice. "You lived your whole life under my protection. I have loved you from the moment your father first buckled you into my back seat."

Sam stiffens. "This is impossible. I mean, you're a car."

"And so much more." She leaves suddenly, moving to where Castiel and River are arguing with the TARDIS. The space ship and time machine all crammed into a woman. When Sam saw her last she seemed to be in good physical health, but her complexion is ashen and her eyes bloodshot. When she puts her hand on Rory's shoulder and says something about the pretty one, Sam can see the tremor in her movement. The Impala imposes herself between the group and the TARDIS. "We don't know where he is either!"

"She's not well," Sam says, standing behind Castiel. "What do you know that we don't?"

The TARDIS looks at him and smiles again. "He broke their plan," she says. She doesn't sound any better than she looks. The Impala sets a steadying hand on the small of the TARDIS' back. "My Doctor, silly thing, got surprised by angels in a tomb, isn't that just ridiculous? They separated us, and I cannot remember where they put me."

"Well, you found us in Riverside – so aren't you in Riverside? That's easy, right?" Sam looks over at the Impala stands just to her right and isn't sure if he finds her terrifying or perfect. The woman, whoever she is, has got to be hard as nails. Sam is certain that Dean would find her attractive. Which, really, is _so _wrong, now that Sam stops to think about it. "Do you remember how you got to Riverside?"

The TARDIS shakes her head. "No, they put me there. They tore me apart and threw me away. And I cannot stop – because the angels are breaking time, and it breaks faster when I'm near. It was a mistake to stay in this city for so long." The TARDIS clears her throat and looks over at Castiel. "I don't think he's in this time at all."

"This..." River stiffens as if stunned. "Of course! If you want to keep the Doctor in one spot, you put him and his TARDIS far, far apart. Even that isn't guaranteed to work. We need to take you to where the angels have you hidden."

"Only the angels know." The TARDIS coughs and her whole body shudders; Rory rushes forward to help hold her upright, and Sam is surprised that the Impala doesn't punch him in the face by the look she shoots him. The TARDIS kisses Rory's forehead as she steadies herself. "If we find my Doctor, we find the angels." She looks at Castiel, who nods.

"I'll find him," he says, quietly in a voice Sam thought was reserved for Dean. It surprises him, the tenderness there. Then the ground rumbles underfoot. "We need to go," Castiel says. "Time is getting weaker every second."

"But we can't just leave them here – we'll work better together!" Sam moves to get closer to the women, but River holds him back. "Why can't we work together?"

"You're safer without us – we'll find you." The Impala takes the TARDIS by the hand – they step back. Rory hesitates before nodding and moving close to River, a hand on her shoulder.

"Go," Castiel tells River as he grabs Sam's wrist. "I've got Sam." Castiel meets the TARDIS' gaze again, as though they're saying something that Sam doesn't understand, and then old New York is gone. They've touched down in a far corner of Singer Salvage. Castiel releases Sam and stretches his fingers. "Sam, do you remember anything strange happening before you and Dean confronted Lilith?"

"Define strange," Sam says, rubbing his face to clear away the fuzzy feeling of extraterrestrial travel. He doesn't want to talk about that. He hates the pit that forms in his gut whenever he thinks of how close they came to setting the devil loose on the world.

Castiel runs a hand through his hair, and he looks less angelic than usual. There's something visceral to him that Sam can't quite understand. "The Doctor changed something that allowed you to defeat Lilith without freeing Lucifer. The angels want him to change it, but I don't know what it is."

Sam tries to remember through the haze of blood lust that had powered his every move up until Dean had arrived in that church. "Nothing. I was going to do it, and Dean stopped me. We killed Lilith and Ruby in Texas, and buried the bodies under devil's traps."

Nodding, Castiel leans back on a rusted minivan and stares up at the bright morning sky. The day is slightly chilled and the colors seem too saturated. It doesn't seem like birds should be singing when the world is falling apart. "I don't know what to do, Sam. There's so much in this world that needs fixing, and God cannot be found to do it. I don't see how the Doctor can repair this."

Sam narrows his eyes at Castiel. "What do you mean, God can't be found?" He's surprised when Castiel looks away. "Cas? What's aren't you telling us?"

"This isn't the first attempt Raphael and his followers have made to free Lucifer again. I have – " Castiel clears his throat. "I have been trying to find God to stop them, but he refuses to show himself."

With a pang in his chest that reminds Sam of all those times he and Dean couldn't find their dad, Sam puts a hand on his shoulder and says, "Tell me everything, Cas."

* * *

Staring out the window, every breath like shredded glass as she watches Romans march through the town with their spears and shields, the TARDIS suddenly understands. One moment she's on the edge of despair, and the next it's clear as day. She turns to where the Impala is staring. "I have it! I am time."

"You alone?" the Impala teases, even through the concern lining her features.

"You would be surprised." The TARDIS pulls the Impala toward the bed. They stumble into sitting positions, and the TARDIS clears her throat. "The angels will follow the Winchesters in every time line, no matter what becomes of them. I was drawn to your magic because you are my key to the Winchester's future. You are in every future as far as these angels are concerned, because the Winchesters are every future."

The Impala sits cross-legged across from her, leans forward, and presses their lips together tenderly – hardly a movement at all before it's over. The gesture is strange and comforting; the TARDIS finds that her borrowed eyes (which feel less borrowed every day) water. "I don't understand."

"Through you I can touch every future version of you. You will always be with your boys, and the Doctor will be there somewhere. Please trust me."

"Always."

The TARDIS clears her throat. "Close your eyes." The Impala complies, and the TARDIS braces her hands on either side of the Impala's face and expends all the energy she has left to search.

_They laugh together as they drive down the road; the sun shines through Lisa's hair, and her eyes shine when she looks at Dean. In the back seat Ben is engrossed in some game, earbuds tucked firmly in his ears. "I know you grew up in this car, but I don't think we'll be able to fit a car seat in when the baby comes."_

The Impala gasps slightly, but the TARDIS presses on, her chest aching and her head pounding. Blood rushes in her ears. She widens her hands, her thumbs over the Impala's cheekbones as she feels out the paths, tries to find that missing hint of her Doctor.

_Dean tossed bloodied and beaten against the cool metal side of the car, Sam stands hard and gone above him. "Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you." And the Impala can feel it, can feel the moment when Sam's eyes soften and he regains control._

At first the TARDIS doesn't understand why her thumbs are wet, doesn't realize that she's causing the Impala pain. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she breathes as she tries again, following another path. She knows her fingers are too hard against tender flesh, know that she may as well be slicing the Impala's heart in pieces. But she holds on.

_"No, Cas, you can't just magic her better!" Dean snaps as he pushes the hood up and exposes the engine. Castiel, clad in a t-shirt and jeans, smiles indulgently at Dean. "Don't look at me like that, I'm serious. You got to treat her right, and that means getting hands on."_

There's a spark, a little electric feeling in her core that tells the TARDIS she's nearly got it. Her skin is alight and she can't feel in her fingertips, can't feel the Impala's skin beneath her palms. The Impala breathes hard, and she grips the TARDIS' wrists. Her grip is strong. "Don't."

_"Oh no, Baby, what did they do to you?" Dean looks over his shoulder as a twig cracks and stares, dumfounded, at the man in front of him._

_With a smile that's equal parts sardonic and sad, the Doctor replies, "Wait until you see what they've done to you."_

The TARDIS yanks her hands away as she tries to fill her lungs with air. She can't, and her vision starts to fade. _So this is dying._ "2014," she gasps as the Impala grabs a hold of her and lowers her gently to the bed. "2014, after the angel Lucifer has taken Sam." She can hear the Impala, but the TARDIS can't seem to keep her eyes open. She can feel the Impala's hands through her hair and it's soothing. She thinks the Impala might be speaking, but her ears can't seem to keep up. "Baby. We found him. I just need to rest for a minute."


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

"Oh, _perfect_, yes, because you're the exact person I want to see," the Doctor says from where he sits on the porch, watching Dean and his team of dead men pack up a truck. "What do you think of this – this _nonsense?"_

Death sits beside the Doctor and watches impassively. "All time is death and decay to me."

"Don't give me that." The Doctor's eyes follow Castiel, running a hand over a pretty young girl's side before he pulls on his jacket. He's seen it enough times, tried to intervene enough times, that he knows the exact words Castiel will say, knows the rattle in Castiel's pockets, knows the way the girl's heart skips a beat, knows exactly what Dean is saying on the other side of the truck. This whole thing is rubbish – there's no way he's been here so long to have passed four cycles, but four cycles have passed nonetheless.

"This is a fascinating torture, isn't it?" Death says, cutting through the Doctor's litany of frustrations. "The last timelord, trapped in a time loop. As if living through linear time wasn't bad enough." Death is staring at the Doctor. "I'm still not pleased with you."

The Doctor looks over and smiles, suddenly and for the first time in days. "Next time. Maybe."

"Maybe," Death replies. "I admit, I never get tired of reaping Dean Winchester. This may not be his true death, but he so irritated me in his intended time line that I find it cathartic nonetheless." He already sounds bored. The Doctor likes when Death is bored; it usually means he'll move on without much fuss. There aren't many things that the Doctor doesn't understand, but Death tops that list. "Why did you stop the Winchesters from freeing Lucifer? You knew that this was not going to be the end of the Earth."

The Doctor shrugs as he watches Castiel climb into a truck and shift in his seat. No one else can see them, of course – the Doctor isn't even sure if Castiel can see them – but the Doctor winces as the frail bony remains of Castiel's wings retract to his body. "It seemed wasteful. Too many dead – my way saved thousands of lives." The Doctor grins again and adds, "Clever, too."

"Yes, clearly the devil is in the details," Death intones. He pushes himself upright, cane in hand.

"I miss the cloak and scythe getup." The Doctor watches the trucks rumble out the gate of Camp Chitaqua, and knows that the loop will start again before long. "It has style."

"A suit never goes out of style. I came to tell you that your TARDIS will soon die. We've known each other long enough that it seemed... polite to ask if you want to send her a message."

The Doctor's whole body goes still, and he can feel the twin beat of his hearts within his chest. "It's impossible – nothing can kill the TARDIS, she's a ship."

"She has a soul. All souls are eventually mine; you know that keener than us all, old friend." Death straightens his shoulders and braces both hands on his cane. He looks regal and unforgiving where he stands. The Doctor shakes his head. "The angels tore her soul from her body. It was only a matter of time."

"She's a fighter," the Doctor says. "She won't die without a fight. She won't die before I get out of here." The Doctor clenches his fists and closes his eyes.

"Perhaps," Death says. "But I am the one creature that she cannot fight forever."

* * *

Dean doesn't know what he expects when he opens the door, but he doesn't expect to see two women on the doorstep, one holding the other, unconscious, in her arms. "Um, can I help you?" he asks before he gets a good look at the unconscious woman. It clicks into place at about the same time the woman – the _Impala_, holy shit – muscles past him and finds her way to the couch. "Sam, is this – "

"What happened?" Castiel interrupts, helping the woman lower her unconscious partner onto Bobby's couch. He brushes the unconscious woman's hair back from her face and lifts each eyelid to examine her carefully.

While he's busy laying hands on, or whatever it is angels do, Dean runs into the study. "They're here. I think. Sam! Sam, is that my car?" He rushes back with the sound of footfall behind him, and when he arrives Castiel has a hand on the TARDIS' forehead, expression wooden and pained. "Cas?"

"Shh!" the Impala snaps, holding the TARDIS' hand tightly.

It doesn't take Castiel more than a minute to pull away from the TARDIS, shaking his head. "I cannot contain her; I've done what I can, but she's going to die. We don't have long."

The Impala bites her lip, and traces a line on the TARDIS' cheek. "She found him."

"Where?" Castiel asks – at the same time River says, "Thank goodness, let's get going!"

"In – she used me, you see, to follow potential futures. And she found him in a future – 2014, except Lucifer is free and has taken Sam? I don't know what it means, I don't know how I'm supposed to find him on my own!" The Impala takes a deep breath and nods. "Castiel, do you know?"

"I could look," Castiel says, like he's considering it carefully. Then he nods, clearing his throat. "Yes, that's enough information. I can find the Doctor with that."

"Whoa, whoa, hold on a minute!" Dean clears his throat and shakes his head. "You can't just start riffling through hypothetical futures, especially one where Lucifer is roaming unchecked. I'm willing to bet he's not too happy to see you."

Castiel frowns. "No one else can do it."

"Cas – "

"This is not up for discussion." Castiel touches the Impala's arm. She looks up at him for a moment, tear stains on her cheeks, but she looks away from Castiel when he meets her eyes. "They're both dying; the TARDIS is just going faster. If I don't do this, then their lives are on my hands. I need time." When he storms out to the porch, Dean follows. It's not that Dean doesn't want to figure out exactly what's going on with his car, but this is bigger. This is more important.

"Cas, you don't know what it's like!"

"You think I don't know what a prison manipulated by vengeful angels will be like?" Castiel is standing with his face upturned, taking a deep breath. Sunset turns the clouds pink and orange, and Dean wishes he knew the right words. Words are not his strength.

"It's not like I don't trust you to do it, it's just... look, we stopped the Apocalypse. We kept Lucifer underground, and we did that because you were man enough to let me out. Without you, there's no way it would've happened. I can't imagine walking into a future intended as a prison is the smartest move. Damn it, Cas, I am not equipped to save you from angels!"

"Who asked you to?" Castiel's face is serene, which makes the bitter edge to his voice even stranger. "I have asked you for many things, Dean, but I have never asked you to do something for my personal gain. I am not a 'damsel.' I do not require your protection."

"Well, maybe I want to, okay?" At this Castiel turns his head and gives him the most curious look. Dean clears his throat and looks Castiel in the eye. It's just words. He can be a man about this. "We're like family, right? Family protects each other. We're in this together."

Castiel is more hesitant when he replies. "You have made it clear you're angry with me. It does not seem very familial."

"Can you blame me?" Dean fights the urge to run back inside and small the door on this moment. "You came in there and told me that you let my brother out of detox to hook up with his dealer – did you think I was going to pat you on the back and say it'll be okay? It's not okay. It took me a long time to stop imagining locking _you_ up in the panic room, especially when Sam had to start all over again. But it doesn't mean that I don't..." Dean clears his throat again, and doesn't feel any better for his big emotional outburst. "Don't do anything stupid, okay? Just be smart, and come back in one piece."

"I will," Castiel says. "I need time alone to find the right place." He pauses, then adds, "I will tell you before I leave."

That's enough for Dean; he certainly doesn't know what else to say at this point. He goes back inside, his stomach in knots, and confronts his car. Well, he intends to confront his car. He's still pissed, so pissed when he looks at that body and knows that some poor woman is inside, but at the same time it sort of seems right. Weird, but fitting. She looks so damn sad that Dean's anger evaporates to a low simmer. She meets his eye, and she _knows_. She has a look about her just like Castiel, like she can see right into his thoughts. "How did you send Cas hurtling into Bobby's kitchen?" he asks, his voice raw. "Last I checked, that's an angel-only tool."

She looks sidelong at him with a little knowing smile; she looks a little proud. "He did it to himself – I just pushed. I always take people where they want to go."

Dean clears his throat. "You want to see the car? I mean, you. I guess. Damn!"

She looks up and nods, wiping her face as she stands. She lingers over the TARDIS for another moment, and Dean can't help but feel a little betrayed. The TARDIS not only stole his car, but now his car likes her better. Go figure. They pass Castiel silently; he doesn't move or say anything anything to indicate that he sees them at all. When she sees the Impala, she actually smiles and rushes to touch the metal. "Oh, look at me. Dean, have I ever thanked you for how carefully you crafted me? Lesser men would have left my remains to rust after that accident with the truck." She shudders, and Dean finds himself considering what every bump, rear-end and collision felt like to her.

Flattered and confused, Dean flushes despite himself. "It's nothing. I mean, I couldn't just leave you."

"I always knew you loved me." She continues as she runs her hand along the side and opens the back door. "I always found it an honor," she says as she climbs in the back seat of the car. Dean's head hurts when he tries to wrap his mind around the fact that his car is inside his car. He takes a long pull from his flask and takes a steadying breath. "When you picked me, I knew you were mine. Bearing the Winchesters to their destiny? It's been great."

"Dad picked you."

She smiles and shakes her head. "He thought he picked me, but it was you. I was always meant to be your car."

Right. It didn't seem that way to him; he always assumed his dad was destined to pick the Impala, no matter what. Dean clears his throat. "So, you were aware. All those years?"

"Oh yes," she says, flippant. She coughs hard, like she's been smoking for decades, and stretches out in the backseat. "All the girls and the fights and the spills on my leather. The rattling in the vents and the tears. I know more about you than anyone else in the world, Dean. You and I belong together."

"Are – Are you hitting on me?" Dean asks. She's cute; she's punky and looks like the kind of girl who has a lower back tattoo and listens to AC/DC. But then he remembers that she's his car, and there's no way he could ever... Thankfully (or maybe awkwardly) she laughs. "What?"

"Dean, we both know that you wouldn't want to if I were, and I'm not. You and I are the perfect match, but I'm not your soulmate." She leans her head back, smiling. "Oh, but I do miss this body. These human ones are restrictive. Slow. They break so easily; you cannot fix this body the way you fix mine. When we fix the world I'll be glad to return."

Dean shoves his hands in his pockets. She seems so normal to him, her expression so perfectly human that he wouldn't know she wasn't. He can't imagine how he's going to go back to having a car, knowing this. Knowing her. "Cas said you're dying."

"He did. I am. I am not a human, Dean; I cannot be contained in this body for long. Of course, longer than the TARDIS. She is much bigger, much more than I ever shall me."

"Hey now, don't let her sell you short like that."

She laughs, but still looks sad. Slowly, she climbs out of the car and closes the door tenderly. She rests her forehead against the roof and exhales; her breath clouds the metal. "No, she would never. But I know, and watching her die is terrible for so many reasons."

"Why did you leave?" He asks the question like a hurt child, without even realizing it was bothering him – without knowing he would say it. "Why is the Doctor such a big deal?"

She looks at him quizzically. After a second she walks over to him and wraps her arms around his shoulders, holding him tight in her arms. "For you and Sam, of course. It was my turn to save you, and to save you I have to save the Doctor. What did you think?"

Dean doesn't answer, but that's okay. She doesn't seem to need him to speak.

* * *

Castiel leaves not long after Dean and the Impala get back inside. The Impala excuses herself to rest, and Dean settles in to drink alone. Except he's not drinking alone, because Bobby's house is stuffed to the brim with people and no one can do anything alone. Earlier, Amy walked into the bathroom while he was showering to brush her teeth, as though they had known each other forever. There is no such thing as _alone_ anymore, and Dean can't decide if he's pissed off and peopled out, or pissed off that it won't last.

Sam, Amy and Rory are talking about the TARDIS about two feet away. "This happened before," Rory says, and Sam looks like a kid being told a ghost story over a campfire. "It went about the same."

"But she didn't die then," Sam says. "So clearly something can be done, right?"

"Sure," Amy says, looking at the TARDIS as though she's using the force of will alone to keep the ship breathing. "We just have to get her back to her body – her real body – before she dies. No big deal."

River drops beside Dean on the love seat with a drink of her own. "Long time, no see," she says before she takes a sip. "Castiel is off to find the Doctor?"

"Fingers crossed," Dean says, scowling at the form of the TARDIS. "What's your deal, anyway? How do you fit into this whole thing? I get that you're looking for the Doctor, but why? You people don't make a damn bit of sense."

"We don't make sense? You shoot monsters for a living. You don't even make a living at it. How does time travel make us more difficult?" Dean stares at her, and she smirks at him. "You're not going to like it."

"Try me."

River rolls her eyes and nods toward Amy, who is back to maps and logistics with Sam; they're still desperately trying to figure out where the angels would hide a ship – a blue phone box, Rory explained when Dean asked how on earth a whole ship goes missing. "She's my mother."

"Bullshit." He looks from River to Amy again. "Bullshit."

"Honestly," River says. She takes another drink. "It's a very complex time travel and conspiracy problem that we still haven't managed to solve. But those are my parents, a couple years after my birth. I'm actually on the lam right now, you would say."

"For what?"

"I couldn't explain it, even if I were inclined to. So consider how truly bad things have to be that _I_ looked at time and realized it was broken." She sips her drink and adds, "I wish I had been here when the angel left; I wanted to go with."

"You and me both." Dean looks over at her. For the first time since they've met her, she looks anxious. "Where have you been, anyway?"

"Following a lead. Unfortunately, what my contact thought was the TARDIS was actually just an antique phone box. Imagine our surprise." She laughs, and sounds genuinely amused. She even seems surprised when he doesn't laugh. "Goodness, you are grumpy. This is a good thing, Dean. When we find the Doctor, he'll be able to find the TARDIS."

He stands to refill his drink; River follows, and no one seems to notice them leave. Sitting and waiting and _faith_, he can't fucking stand it. "Angels can do some freaky mojo to your head. Maybe they made him forget, or make him think he's – I don't know, a fucking chicken or a schoolteacher. I once spent a week thinking I was this guy named Dean Smith, and sometimes I still wake up and forget that I'm not a corporate douchebag. All because an angel thought it would be a good life lesson."

"The Doctor is not so susceptible."

"I'm not worried about the Doctor!" Dean downs his drink quickly, and pours another. In a lower voice, he snaps, "I'm glad we're gonna find him and all that, but in the end I care about my family, not some guy I've never met who supposedly has the power to save my life. You're not the first person to try to sell me on that idea."

River frowns, then nods slowly. "I think I understand."

"You don't." Dean pours another drink. "This is all I've got. When everyone is gone and this whole thing is done, or we all die in a bloody mess, this is my entire life. Killing bad guys and watching my family in the line of danger. I'm sick of it."

River pats his back. "For what it's worth, I really do understand."

Dean doesn't take it as a comfort.

* * *

It's not so easy as blinking out of one time and into another. Castiel understands the theory, and knows that it can be done. He has visited various potential futures before, especially when the seals were breaking and he wanted to know what would become of Dean, but he has never done so once the futures were rendered moot.

The sensation isn't unlike passing through a wall from one time to another. It takes him two tries before he knows he has the right place. He can feel the strangeness in the presence of the Doctor. It feels nothing like the presence of another angel, but it's distinct from the other humans. He follows carefully to a cabin. Castiel looks around, squinting at the desolation of what looks like a decaying campground, before he approaches the skinny man sitting on a porch. He's frowning at a small piece of metal in his hands, tossing it between his palms. "You are the Doctor."

"Yes. And you – you. This is _interesting_, you're Castiel!" The Doctor jumps up and circles Castiel, hands moving in rapid, jerky motions as though he's trying to touch something intangible. With his tweed jacket and bright bow tie, he looks quite a bit like a teacher who has been misplaced. "But not this Castiel, and let me tell you that is a relief. Those bony things on the other Castiel, those are terrifying, but you. You are still an angel. A little weak, but an angel all the same. Well, what's the score then, my friend? Are we escaping? I love a good escape."

Castiel raises an eyebrow. "Yes, we need to go." He grabs hold of the Doctor's wrist and reaches his senses to breach the wall – and finds nothing. Scowling, he tries again, but his way in seems to have gone missing. He drops the Doctor's arm. "Something is wrong."


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

"Crafty, your brothers," the Doctor says. He returns to his stoop and to the original escape plan. It's a bad plan, yes, but Castiel's arrival really just confirms it as viable. "Have a seat," he says when Castiel stands there, staring at the sky like it's going to burst open and provide a convenient door. It's so different from the Castiel that the Doctor has come to know, who would shrug and toss back a pill to make him forget. "I've got a plan."

"What is it?" Castiel asks, still staring. He's got an intense stare. The Doctor appreciates the light in his eyes.

"I'm trying to give Gabriel a call."

This gets Castiel's attention; he twirls on a heel and turns that stare on the Doctor. "Gabriel has been missing since Lucifer's fall."

"Did you think he did that hiding on his own?"

"You are not so old," Castiel replies, but the Doctor counts it as a victory when Castiel sits cautiously beside him. "It's impossible for you to have met Gabriel."

"Time traveler," the Doctor says, grinning at Castiel. "I can be anywhere I want, and I just so happened to get a signal from an archangel looking for a cover story. He promised me a favor. Always good to have an angel in your pocket."

"How? You are not of our world, how can you know the angels with any familiarity?"

The Doctor smiles. This Castiel thinks. Fantastic! "I met your Father at a – hm." He leans back and considers how to phrase it without offending this Castiel, who still has some shred of devoutness within him. "Your Father is the Big Man here, but just a big man out in the universe. There was a meet up – a poker game, really."

Castiel stares. "A poker game."

"I crashed it – broken in, totally uninvited. Your God broke me back out. Nice guy, all things considered. Not so good at planetary maintenance, it seems." The Doctor laughs, but Castiel looks so alarmed and unsure of the story. So the Doctor moves on – _don't dwell on the weird stuff, just keep moving._ "Also, don't be alarmed, but you're here."

Castiel continues to stare – clearly this version of Castiel is a professional in the world of staring. "Yes."

"No, sorry, I mean you also exist in this time loop. You are going to meet you. Oh, yes, I see how this gets confusing." But Castiel nods in apparent understanding. "Anyway, I'm trying to call that favor in. I'm not entirely sure I'm getting reception."

"I know some specific and powerful prayers – "

"No. No prayers. This isn't faith, this is business."

Castiel nods like that doesn't shock him. They watch the sunset over Camp Chitaqua, and the Doctor knows that the shift will come soon. The shift is the worst – he hates repeating himself, and he especially hates repeating himself to Dean Winchester, who barely listens on a good day. On a bad day he may as well be deaf. The Doctor had never met Dean before he decided to help the Winchesters stop the Apocalypse – or rather, help them not start it – but he suspects if he had, he might have made a very different choice.

The Doctor startles out of his own thoughts, and shakes his head. No, he wouldn't make a different choice – and _damn_ the angels and their clever prison for trying to make him think it.

"This doesn't seem so bad," Castiel says, though he says it like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I'm with Heaven's prisons, and they tend to be... much more persuasive."

The Doctor frowns; the worst is yet to come, and he almost wishes that Castiel doesn't have to see it. "This was perfectly crafted to drive me mad. It's a loop."

"You've mentioned that."

"But you clearly don't comprehend." The Doctor stands and paces, tired of trying to get through to Gabriel. "The camp relives these two days, over and over again." The Doctor wiggles his fingers as though he could fix the problem if only he could touch it. "I have to watch. Two days, over and over. They get the lead on the Colt – that gun, it's always guns with these people. They make their plan, they load their trucks, they march off to be killed by your devil."

"You say I'm here?"

The Doctor hesitates. "In a manner of speaking."

"And the other angels?"

"Gone, according to you. The things that Winchester has done to you – I don't approve, you know. I can see it in your eyes when I say his name, and it's bad news."

Castiel squints at him like he's trying to decipher something particularly complicated. "I don't understand."

"Look at you! Consider everything you are, right now. If you keep with Dean Winchester, he breaks you. I don't want you to even see it, it's so appalling. And it is. Utterly appalling. You are a gorgeous thing, and Dean Winchester is sullied. With Dean, you never know how to be your own man. You go straight from being Heaven's soldier to Dean's soldier."

"I'm not a man at all," Castiel replies, some confusion on his face. The Doctor shakes his head and pats Castiel's shoulder before sitting down.

"Sure you are, you just don't know it yet. Dean Winchester will be your ruin."

But Castiel is shaking his head, slow and certain. "This man, the one you describe, is not Dean. I've touched Dean's soul. His light far out-weighs his darkness."

The Doctor intends to argue, but time resets and there's Dean Winchester, stalking up the path with a gun in hand and murder in his eyes. The Doctor looks to Castiel, who straightens his shoulders and tilts his chin up when Dean approaches as though he has something the prove. The interesting thing is when Dean sees Castiel, he slows.

In all the times Dean has found the Doctor infiltrating his camp, he has never hesitated. He has certainly never lowered his weapon. He has never ever slowed to a stop. He says, "Castiel," like he can't believe his eyes.

Come to think of it, the Doctor isn't sure he's ever heard Dean say his name. The Doctor grins and jumps to his feet. _This_ is great – this is finally something new, something useful. "Castiel, meet Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester, this is – "

"I know who he is!" Dean lifts the gun and faces the Doctor, but his expression isn't as hard as usual. "Who are you?"

With every ounce of confidence he possesses, he says, "I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor who?"

Okay, so that hasn't gotten old yet. "Just the Doctor. We've been doing this for days now, Dean, but I'm not going to prove it to you – it didn't work so well yesterday, after all. Today I'm going to ask you a question. How is it I've seen you with your Castiel a dozen times, and I've never heard you say his name like that?"

Dean is staring at Castiel again, and he clears his throat. "This isn't Cas. What is this?"

"I tell you what, take us to your Castiel and he can sort it all out, right? You always trust Castiel." The Doctor reaches out to help Castiel to his feet, but Castiel doesn't take it as he stands – doesn't look away from Dean. It looks like Castiel is reading the whole of Dean Winchester's life right out of his eyes. It's such a welcome change in the routine that is his prison, that the Doctor doesn't even complain when Dean waves his gun and orders them to walk.

* * *

Castiel first sees at the remains of his doppelganger's wings and understands exactly what the Doctor meant when he said "in a manner of speaking." This offset version of himself is staring at where Castiel knows his wings to be, and when they finally look each other in the eye there's confusion, understanding, and absolute terror. When was the last time this Castiel saw an angel?

"This is too amazing," the Doctor says, standing between them as he looks back and forth between their faces. "Like night and day if the light didn't change."

Out of the corner of his eye Castiel watches Dean holster his gun. "Well, Cas?" It takes a second before Castiel realizes that Dean isn't talking to him, but the other Castiel. It's confusing, and Castiel doesn't like what jealousy feels like.

"This is me," the other Castiel – Cas – says, clearing his throat. He's drinking from a metal flask that's dull with age, and he shudders as he swallows. "And him, he's different too. Not human, but not a demon. Or an angel." He looks back to Castiel. There's wonder in his eyes, and Castiel can see how small he became in this future. "Where did you come from?"

"Another time," Castiel says. "This is – "

Someone Castiel doesn't recognize bursts into the room – a woman whose face is dominated by a grim frown. "Boss, we got a problem. We need to go. _Now_," she adds when Dean hesitates.

"Watch them," Dean snaps at Cas on his way out the door. Castiel both misses the familiar presence and is glad for Dean's absence. He doesn't need to be reminded of how easily Dean could become that person. Once Dean is gone Cas sits on the floor on a large threadbare pillow. The Doctor leans out the window and examines something far off. Castiel joins Cas on the pillow; he looks himself in the eye again and tries to understand, tries not to look at those bones protruding from Cas' shoulders.

"Another time," Cas repeats. His hands are shaking as he pulls a large matchbox out of his pocket, and a small joint from within. He's avoiding looking at Castiel as he steadies it between his lips. "What does that mean? Is there another time where I – " It takes him four tries to light his match, and he looks calmer once he takes a drag. Castiel wrinkles his nose against the smell. "Sorry, of course, this isn't – this isn't you. Shit, it's like looking in a fucked up mirror. Tell me everything."

Castiel sincerely doubts that Cas can handle everything – then he remembers how much he hates it when Dean makes assumptions about his abilities, about his wants and his motives. "Your future does not exist," Castiel finally says.

"Tell me something I don't know," Cas says as he blows smoke into the air. "I don't think we have more than a month left."

"No, you don't," the Doctor says, still hanging out the window. "You have a day, a _single_ day, before Dean Winchester leads an angel to his death."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Cas says with a laugh that sends a chill through Castiel's rented bones. "I got blown up twice during the Apocalypse. Shit, I could go for it now – being rebuilt works out the aches and pains."

This isn't funny. Castiel can't understand the way this version of himself laughs with absolutely no mirth. "You're living in a pocket of time," Castiel tries again, hoping he's not going to have to explain it a third time. "This is an abandoned future. Lucifer was never released from his cage."

Cas stares for a long time, before his smile actually melts into some mixture of grief and relief. "Thank dad for small favors, then." He takes another drag and stretches his legs out in front of him. "So this is just a pocket, then? Dean isn't the Michael sword, Sam isn't Lucifer's bitch?" Suddenly Cas lets out a whoop of joy and falls back on the ground. His head thumps against the wood, but his smile doesn't abate. "Oh fuck, I have never felt so good. This isn't me. I don't have to be this. I didn't have to stop being an angel for Dean."

"He should have never expected you to," the Doctor retorts, leaning back in. His whole body seems tense, his mood dark. Castiel wishes he could understand exactly what it is the Doctor sees in Dean that is so ugly. "You should have left."

"I never could," Cas says. It's finally something they can agree on.

Except something else catches Castiel's attention, an idea he nearly missed. "Dean is Michael's intended vessel?"

"Yup," Cas confirms. His eyes fall shut. "And right now Lucifer is walking around in Sam, in Detroit. Dean thinks we hear the reports. We know the score."

"And still you'll follow him to your death." The Doctor stares down at them, and he looks like he could shake them both. Cas smiles at him, and then tilts his head to look at Castiel.

"Of course. He understands," Cas says. "And Castiel is the only person I need to explain it to."

* * *

On the next day, a different version of Dean shows up and is quickly locked away in a storage shed. Castiel rushes in to untie Dean and at the same time both versions of Dean shout, "Castiel!" The stereo is jarring – one shocked and one angry – and Castiel realizes that the second version of Dean is not his Dean either.

The Doctor is standing outside the door when Castiel leaves. "I should have warned you. I'm not the first person the angels have locked up here."

Castiel rubs his temples. "Both versions of Dean are from a time line where the apocalypse was not averted, though different forks. I thought he followed me. He's so – "

"Presumptuous? Foolhardy? Bull-headed?"

"Yes," Castiel says. "But I was going to say devoted. He believes it's his job to save everyone, and he can not be dissuaded. The longer I'm gone, the more likely it is that he will find a way to break in."

The Doctor peers in the window, but Castiel can't bring himself to look. He should go back in there; no doubt the newest version of Dean is more than a little confused. But somehow the idea of facing two versions of Dean whom he has failed just makes Castiel uneasy. "You don't sound happy." The Doctor turns his back on the shed.

Castiel shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and stares at his feet, feeling uncharacteristically small in this dark place. "How do you know they die?" At this the Doctor falls strangely silent, and if Castiel has learned nothing else over the past day, he has learned that silence is not the Doctor's forte. "Doctor, you keep telling me that Dean kills him – kills me. How do you know that?"

"I went along, once. The first time," the Doctor says. He looks uneasy, and he's sort of rocking on his feet from heel to ball. "The first time, I thought I might be able to drive on somewhere else. Instead I got to watch Dean Winchester send his friends to their death, just so he could get himself killed by your devil – which is when the loop resets."

It makes sense, of course; this is Dean's hell. It's bad for Cas, but there is no greater hell for Dean than what he has become. The anger makes Castiel antsy, and he's not sure where to point that rage. He finds himself taking off at a sprint, turning into the cabin where he knows he will find himself. Cas is talking a low, sultry voice to a circle of women.

"Why didn't you stop him?" Cas and the women all look up at him, but Castiel clenches his fists in his pockets and doesn't look away from Cas' eyes. Louder, he repeats: "Why didn't you stop this?"

"Ladies, if you'll excuse us." The women leave without much complaint, and Castiel is left looking at an angel who has become a shadow of a man, lost and broken. Castiel hates him. Just as this version of Dean reminds him of all the darkness within Dean, this version of himself reminds him of all the weakness within him. "What do you think I could have done?" Cas asks. "Why does it even matter, if we're not real?"

"Because you were." Castiel's knuckles crack and he yanks his fists from his pockets. He exhales, then inhales the scent of this world. "You were afraid of being on your own. So am I. And so is..." Castiel nods, and turns to leave again. He passes the new odd version of Dean, but Castiel doesn't stop.

* * *

When the reset comes, Castiel realizes why the Doctor sits on the porch after the trucks leave. "I came through when the loop was weak," he says to the Doctor, who nods his agreement. "You're hoping that Gabriel will hear at the right moment."

"Yes," the Doctor says. "I tried getting out on my own, but as you've noticed it's a one-way route."

"Why do you think prayer will work at all?"

"Not prayer," the Doctor says again. "But that brother of yours told me to pray for him when I was ready to fix what I changed. I figure if it works for one, it'll work for the other. The lot of you aren't all that different."

"We are," Castiel says, but he isn't angry. He bows his head and adds his prayer to the Doctor's calls.

* * *

At the next reset Dean can't be reasoned with. He tosses Castiel and the Doctor into the locked shed. The next day the displaced Dean is locked in with them. Cas glances in once, be he's so high and agitated that Castiel doesn't even try to communicate with him.

The third loop is easier. Dean is just as suspicious, but Cas is so openly affectionate that it makes Castiel uncomfortable. His hands are so familiar, his breath pungent as he leans in too close to Castiel and whispers of their home.

The Doctor gets quieter with every loop, and snappier with every reply. He's clearly going to snap at some point, and nothing Castiel does seems to ease his agitation. At the end of their second reset when the trucks are loading, Castiel asks, "Do you regret helping the Winchesters?"

"No!" The Doctor then shakes his head slowly as he inhales. "No, but this place is designed to change my mind, isn't it? They want me to see the very worst of the Winchesters." He jumps to his feet, half-jogging down the slope to stand at the front of the gate. Castiel follows far behind, his own prayers a silent litany as the Doctor steps in front of the first truck in the line and yells, "You don't have to do this!"

"Doctor, I will run you over," Dean says, his hand on his gun holster. Castiel has watched him shoot a man in cold blood, and he can't get the image out of his head. "Get out of the way."

"You're not going to save him," the Doctor says. He's barely loud enough for Castiel to hear him, but Dean goes stiff. "I watch this again, and again, and again, and there's no chance for him – or you – if you do this. Stay back. Try another way."

Dean pulls his gun. "You don't know me."

The Doctor stands his ground. "I know you better than you think. I know that you hate change, and you fear the things you can't explain. I know that you substitute that gun for courage and understanding. I know that you would do anything for your family, and that every day since Lucifer got free has driven you mad. That losing Sam suddenly, and losing Castiel slowly, has eaten away at any vestige of decency you have left."

The gun goes off. The world stops. Castiel can feel his heartbeat thudding against his chest.

"You guys can't be trusted to do anything alone, can you?"

The man vessel isn't familiar, but Castiel recognizes the angel within. "Gabriel," he breathes; at first he averts his eyes, but then realizes that he shouldn't have to. He looks Gabriel in the eye.

"Whoa. You don't have to leer, little brother," Gabriel says, sidling down the slope toward the Doctor, who allows the tension in his face to ease as Gabriel approaches. Everyone else is frozen in place. Gabriel flicks the bullet out of the air absentmindedly. "Calling in that favor, Doctor?"

"Did you get that impression? I've only been calling for – what? Days? Weeks now?"

Gabriel shrugs. "Hard to say – you're completely out of sync here. Still, glad to help." At this he grins and turns to Castiel. "Last time I saw you, you a very obedient little angel. Rebellion looks good on you."

"I'm doing what's right," Castiel says. "Can you break the wall?"

"Of course; this is child's play." Gabriel puts a hand on the Doctor's shoulder, and Castiel walks down toward them. He imagines seeing Dean again, with what he knows now. What he understands about himself, the awareness that only comes from seeing oneself do wrong –

Only then he realizes he's stopped moving. Held in place with Raphael standing between him and escape. "Hello, Gabriel. I'm not surprised that you would show your face only to betray us."

Gabriel snorts. "Hardly. You may not have noticed, but you're actually making things worse. You can't change history, Dad didn't build us for that. You're just breaking all his toys."

"Should our Father object, he knows where to find us. Now, give me back my prisoner. He can escape when he is ready to right what he has wronged."

"I have wronged nothing," the Doctor snaps. Castiel tries to move in vain, but there's no chance. He's not going to escape this grasp, not weakened and distracted as he was. The Doctor is rushing forward, conviction and anger bright in his eyes. _Leave before he stops you_. "How can such strong creatures be so blind?"

Gabriel grabs the Doctor by the shoulder again, holding him back. "Doctor, we need to go now."

Raphael shrugs this away. "Try, messenger. See how far you get."

The world goes bright, Castiel watches as it cracks away under the light that he knows belongs to Gabriel. He feels himself lifted away and wonders if this is how Dean feels when they travel together. Somewhere, distant and nearly beyond sound, Castiel can hear the Doctor shouting his name.


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

"Where's Cas?" Dean snaps at the two figures that appear in the middle of the room; even before he realizes who's there, he can tell that neither of them is Castiel. One is reedy and manages to look both old and young at the same time; the other is – "And what the fuck are you doing here?"

The tall one looks at him like he's just beaten the cutest puppy on the planet. Before Dean can protest or argue, Amy comes running around the corner with a shout of "Doctor!" She's hugging The Doctor before he seems to quite realize what's happening, but his face softens. "We were so worried," she says. "Everything is so wrong."

"Wouldn't be the first time, eh, Pond?" the Doctor says. He moves completely around Dean to hug Rory as well. Somewhere between confusion and frustration, Dean watches the man walk over to where the TARDIS is laying supine on the couch. "This is the TARDIS?" he says, touching one cheek before pulling some weird glowing device from his pocket and waving it over her almost randomly; it whirs, then stops as The Doctor shoves it back in his pocket.

"Yes," River says from an arm chair. The look she and the Doctor exchange is totally undecipherable, like his parents over dinner when he was practically a baby. "We don't have much time."

"Well, I did say you were a fighter," The Doctor says the TARDIS. "Alright, well, we have a lot to do then. Gabriel, think you can spring your brother from Heaven?"

"Gabriel?" Dean turns to look at the being he knows as the trickster, who shrugs at the Doctor's question. Sam is taking the stairs two at a time shouting, "I have an idea!" Amy is asking the Doctor, "We just need to get to the ship like last time, right?" Dean takes a gun off the table and shoots the trickster/Gabriel in the chest. Gabriel winces and gives Dean his best _What the fuck?_ look, but it does the job of getting everyone's attention. "Someone is going to tell me what's going on right now!"

"Of course, Dean Winchester has to be in control," the Doctor snarls, turning and getting right in his face. It's weird, because any other skinny nerd this much in his personal space would be toast – but the Doctor actually pulls off intimidating, either by his ire or some other force that Dean doesn't understand. "The world can't possible turn without Dean Winchester imposing his personal morality on it, isn't that right? It doesn't matter what you break, so long as everyone is following your orders." The Doctor turns and freezes when he sees Sam staring at them from the door. "Oh. The real Sam Winchester."

"Where's Cas?" Dean asks again, his hands trembling and panic filling his chest. The Doctor turns back around like he's going to snap again, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to, not really; Dean can read every judgment in the guy's face like he had printed it out on fucking sheet of paper. "Look, I don't know what your problem with me is, and I don't care – but Cas left to find you. Here you are, with whoever _that_ is, and no Cas. Where is he?"

"Caught," Gabriel says, smoothing his shirt over the hole left by the gun. There's no blood, nothing to indicate that he was hurt at all. "Raphael got there just before I could get him out. Right now he's locked up tighter than a virgin's – "

"And can you get him?" the Doctor interrupts.

Gabriel looks uneasy. "Look, my cover is blown. On top of that inconvenience, it's been a couple millennia. With Dad MIA, I'm pretty sure they've changed the locks. I don't see how I can get in without being caught myself."

"You son of a bitch," Dean hisses at no one in particular. He's not sure if he's more angry with the Doctor or Gabriel or the angels, but he wishes he could punch one of them until he felt better. "You have any idea how pissed off the angels have to be at him right now? He's the one who busted me out! He let me stop Sam! You have to get him out."

"I can't," Gabriel replies testily. "But be my guest; get thy noble ass off to Heaven and bust him out."

Dean is about the shout, then pauses. "Would that work?"

"Dean!" Sam imposes himself in front of Dean and everyone else. "Look, Cas told me that you changed something," Sam says the Doctor. "We were supposed to fail."

The Doctor straightens his lapels and fiddles with his bow tie. "The angels think so."

"What did you do?"

"Well," the Doctor says; he grins suddenly, like he's remembered a great joke. "I took the doors off the abbey."

"The doors?" Dean asks. "That's all?"

"In the angel's version, it was a door that stopped you," the Doctor says. He doesn't sound quite so cheerful when he addresses Dean. "So I took the doors off. No doors. You sped right in and saved the world."

"And they want you to go back and put the doors back on," Sam says, nodding. He's clearly connecting the dots in his mind. "So, right, if they want you back at the abbey, doesn't it make sense that the TARDIS is there? I mean, worst case scenario, if you escape them without agreeing they can always assume you'll come for her."

The Doctor lights up when he looks at Sam. "Of course, yes! Right then, let's getting going before this world gets any worse!" River is stepping forward and Gabriel is hanging back. Sam is already saying something about going with, and Dean can feel the whole thing slipping out of his control – and he doesn't want it, he realizes. Let them take care of the TARDIS, let them save the world; Sam is more than capable. Instead he slides back closed to Gabriel, loath as he is to do so.

"Would that work?" he asks again, quiet enough not to be heard over everyone's plotting. "Could I break into Heaven?"

"If you're crazy enough to die and good enough to get there," Gabriel says under his breath. "Look, not that I don't like the kid, but maybe you ought to let his one go. He can take care of himself."

"Last time Heaven got hold of him, he came back a robot." Dean clears his throat. He doesn't want to do this. There's always that chance that Hell still has his number, and he's pretty sure there's no garrison of angels to come get him this time. But this is Cas – and Cas saved his ass from the chopping block enough times to deserve this. Dean stares at Sam's profile as he, River and the Doctor are arguing over the gadget she uses to hop through time. The Doctor looks pretty pissed off about it. "Any chance you can just, I don't know, kill me quietly? We both know it's your favorite past time."

Gabriel chuckles under his breath. "Sure. Once more for old time's sake. Give 'em hell."

He snaps. Everyone turns to look at them as Dean falls to his knees. This is what a heart attack feels like – his heart has stopped, right? The sudden transition is strange and terrifying, given that a second before it had been drumming hard. He hears Sam an awful far way off. Hands on his face, on his chest; the Doctor is in his vision before it falters. The guy at least has the decency to look stricken, but Dean closes his eyes so he can't see Sam's face.

It's a lot better than the last time he died. At least this time all his organs are in the right place.

* * *

"Hey there, Sam, you know that's not going to do anything," Gabriel says. Sam presses the blade tight against Gabriel's throat. He could honestly take the bastard's head off without a second's guilt. He'd be glad to do it. The sentiment must show in his eyes, because Gabriel's eyes widen just slightly. "Look, it's not for kicks this time – he asked me to do it!"

"Oh, aren't you a saint," Sam retorts. The knife draws blood against Gabriel's throat, but the cut is gone a moment later. Frustrated, Sam tosses the knife aside and settles for decking him. It's not as satisfying as Sam would have hoped, but Gabriel looks stunned by it. "Bring him back! Right now."

"No can do – he's out of my reach, and that's just how it is." He raises his voice when Sam makes an aborted move to hit him again. "He's probably in Heaven right now kicking some righteous angel ass. They don't know how to handle an attack from within. Besides, I sent him with a present. You ought to be thanking me."

"I ought to – I ought to bury you!" Sam rubs his face, and looks at where Dean is still laying on the ground. Very dead. He shudders and looks away, back to the Doctor. He should do something – he's no good to anyone if he can't focus, but his brother is dead. Again. No matter how many hundreds of time he's watched Dean die the memories still cut deep.

"Time is already broken!" River shouts, trying to snatch her wristband back from the Doctor. "How much damage could I possibly do at this point?"

"Lots!" The Doctor inspects it carefully. "These things are terrible for time. You may as well as just take scissors to the whole thing. No, we're going to have to do this the slow way. Sam, we need a car."

"A car!" River barks out a laugh, and Sam can only think about how Dean isn't breathing behind him. He covers his eyes with his hands and tries hard to focus. "You can hardly sit still enough to drink a cup of tea – you'll _die_ in a car!"

"I'm perfectly capable riding in a car!"

_Shut up shut up shut up – _There's a hand on his, gently pushing his hands from his face. He's staring down at the Impala, who smiles at him with damp eyes. "It's okay, Sam," she says softly. "He's going to be okay. They're very special, your brother and his angel."

"How can you possible know?" He takes an uneven breath, and she wipes tears from his cheek with a sad smile.

"Trust me," she replies. She holds his face in her hands for another moment, then turns away. "Doctor! You need a car?"

The Doctor looks at her, looks her up and down before scanning her with his little whirring device. "Yes," he says, instantly. "Look at you! I haven't seen anything quite like you before."

"Not likely to again, either. Sam, grab the TARDIS and follow me." The Impala first approaches Dean, and Sam can't bring himself to look away. She kisses his forehead and whispers something to him, before reaching into his pocket and taking out her own keys. Sam scoops the TARDIS up carefully; she's lighter than he expected. Before he leaves to follow the Doctor, River, and the Impala out the front door, he turns to Gabriel and adds, "Guard him. I swear to God, I will hunt you down if anything else happens to him."

"Scout's honor," Gabriel says. Sam rushes out the door, where the Impala is leaning with both hands down on her hood. Sam slows to stop as he watches her hands. They glow, and his first impression is that they're going to burn straight through the hood of the Impala. Her eyes flutter closed, and her whole body shudders. The light spreads, following the veins up her arms and through her body; when her eyes snap open they glow. White, then gold, like a small sun as the light spreads across the metal. She convulses once, then everything is dark again as she falls against the hood of the car.

"What was that?" he asks, running with the TARDIS held close. She's too hot against his chest. He sees the Impala keys on the hood of the car. "What did she just do?"

"She just went home," the Doctor says. "Trade me – take her inside."

River takes the TARDIS from Sam. Sam carries the woman who was the Impala inside and replaces her on the couch where the TARDIS rested before. He exchanges one more look with Fabriel before heading back to the Impala. The Doctor is sitting in the backseat with the TARDIS' head in his lap and her knees curled close to her body. River climbs in the passenger seat, and Sam takes the keys from the hood. He chokes up, horribly aware of Dean's absence – how pissed he was going to be that Sam drove the Impala first – but he shakes himself out of it. _One thing at a time._ He gets in and adjusts the front seat to get more comfortable. When he turns the key in the ignition, the engine rumbles to life as though nothing had ever been wrong.

With a silent apology, Sam peels off on the road. This drive is burnt in his memory. He remembers taking off down this road like a bat out of hell, determined that he was making the right decision – as though there was no way he could have been wrong. He licks his lips and asks the Doctor, "What's the game plan?"

"If we can get to the ship in time the TARDIS will be fine. From there I can... do something very clever," the Doctor says in the airy, scattered way that Sam is coming to suspect is normal.

"What do you mean, do something clever? You don't have a concrete plan?"

"He never does," River says, her smile grim. "How are we supposed to stop these angels? Is there any one thing that can undo all that they've done here? I don't suppose we can just go back and stop them from kidnapping you."

"No, of course not, don't be silly. A bunch of petulant children destroying daddy's den because they're – Oh! Oh, of course!"

"Of course what?" Sam asks, shifting as he moves up another gear. The road is zooming past, and Sam is determined not to let up until they arrive. "What's going on back there?"

"I can't stop them, but their Father can. Yes, I'll just have to go get God."

"You can find God?" River and Sam say at about the same time. Sam adds, "Even the angels can't find God."

"Well, he made them with that flaw. I am not so limited."

"You? Funny guy in a tweed jacket is going to just boss God around?"

The Doctor snorts. "Please. Your god is an interplanetary guardian – every planet has a few dozen. This one is just more persuasive than most." The Doctor taps on his window impatiently. "Once I have the TARDIS, finding god won't be hard. I see him occasionally. Card game. I couldn't explain it if I wanted to. Okay, yes. God's the plan."

River shakes her head but smiles, and Sam wonders where all that hope is coming from. He wants to latch on to it, carry it with him, but he's so weary that he isn't sure how he's even upright. It's not that he hasn't understood why Dean drinks, why Bobby is a recluse, why their dad was so obsessed – but every time this shit happens it gets more real, closer to his heart. "Okay," he says, trying his damnedest to fake that hope until it becomes a reality. "Let's fix your spaceship and go find God." Then he laughs, actually laughs. For second he can pretend he's on the road with family, without time breathing down his neck.

* * *

Dean's sitting on the hood of the Impala, beer in hand, and for a second he thinks it all might have been a dream. It's not the first time he's dozed off sitting still. Just as he's getting ready to tell Sam about the weirdest fucking dream he just had, his cell phone rings. Along with a pink cellphone encrusted with little white and purple rhinestones, which definitely isn't his, he finds the keys to the Impala in the pocket of his jeans.

The phone has one new message. There's no name or number, but it's not hard to guess the sender. _Hello, sunshine. You're off angel radar right now. Weapon in the car._

Right. Dead in Heaven. That's one obstacle down.

Dean climbs into the front seat of the Impala, and it the shape and weight feels perfect. The road stretches infinitely in front of him, straight and smooth. There's a curved sword in an ornate gilded sheath on the passenger seat. Dean reaches over and picks it up by the leather-wrapped handle. It looks old and too fancy for practical use. He unsheathes the blade; it looks like a machete with a wicked curve in the middle. He re-sheaths it and pulls the phone out of his pocket. _You expect me to take on angels with a machete?_

He starts the car, and that's that – he takes off, foot hard on the petal. It feels like stretching his legs after a long drive, like flying without the pesky addition of height. It's perfect – nearly perfect. He gets another message. The road is straight and empty for miles, so he answers – what the hell, he's dead already. _Treat that with respect – you're borrowing it. It'll burn through angel ass like a lightsaber through Obiwan._

Rolling his eyes, Dean slows the car to a crawl (loving the feel of the pedal under his feet again; it's been entirely too long) and asks _Where am I going?_ Dean guns it while he waits for a reply. Eventually he's got to get somewhere, right? And honestly, just driving is nice. He rolls down his window and breathes in the scent of pre-dawn dew and wilderness. This is what Heaven would be if he had designed it – perfect days for driving and his car in perfect condition – except that empty passenger seat. Driving alone, while nice, is no way to spend eternity. Driving with Sam stretched out in the backseat, bitching about the lack of leg room, and Castiel in the front seat staring at a map like it's offended him personally. That's his ideal these days.

The sun begins to set even through it had just started to rise. Dark clouds roll in, obscuring any light that the moon might have brought. Dean considers driving without the headlights but it's so dark that the only reason he knows he isn't off-road is by the smoothness of the ride. When he flips the headlights, he realizes he not driving on anything at all – or perhaps the smoothest, blackest asphalt that Heaven could arrange. A damp chill in the air permeates the car, and Dean slows again. He rolls up his window. The phone chirps.

_Tread cautiously, padawan. Search your feelings. You know them to be true._

Bracing the wheel with his forearms, Dean taps out a quick message: _Quit it with the Star Wars. _

The reply is instant. _I was being perfectly serious. _

Speeding again, Dean pulls the weapon in his lap and keeps one hand wrapped around the hilt. He flips the headlights off, and does his best to follow his feelings. Hopefully they don't lead him astray.

* * *

Dawn is approaching rapidly, and Sam knows that the abbey isn't much further. At some point during the night River fell asleep, her face pressed against the cold glass. She snores like their dad used to, and sleeps like a hunter ought to – that is, like a rock, anywhere she can get it. Meanwhile, the Doctor has been silent in the backseat. He's nearly vibrating in place, like doing 110 miles per hour isn't fast enough to get to where he needs go. Then again – compared to a spaceship, 110 probably feels like crawling.

The closer they get to the abbey, the more the world seems to be unraveling. They pass a settlement of American Indians; four men chased them on horses as they sped through. When Sam stopped for gas, the attendant was holding a newspaper from 1903, and Sam actually watched the coolers disappear. The buildings of a city they passed through seemed to be crumbling and reforming around them, and Sam saw a person collapse into nothingness. The road eventually disappeared, leaving patches of gravel or dirt instead.

Sam clears his throat. "You think we can fix this?" he asks the Doctor, quiet enough that he hopes not to wake River. He can feel the panic on the edge of his words; he hasn't felt this terrible since he'd detoxed off the demon blood – and for the first time wonders if time is rewinding within him as well.

"I believe anything can be fixed," the Doctor says. Sam swallows and nods. Sure. He and Dean had stopped Armageddon, and they were just people – a time traveler ought to have a lot more juice. "Your brother would have argued," the Doctor says as Sam pushes his foot to the pedal, forcing the car to go just a little bit harder. She obeys beneath him, and Sam appreciates the car even more. "You hardly seem related."

"We're more alike than people think," Sam replies, trying to keep his cool. He can see the abbey looming in the distance.

"Superficially, maybe. Your rage is quiet, his is loud, that sort of thing – but it's not the same, not really. Guns. Your brother is all guns and anger."

"I use guns."

The Doctor clicks his tongue. "Your brother lives for this life, though. I spent weeks with the darkest parts of your brother, and he says that all time – people going dark side. Does this go any faster?"

"She's doing her best," Sam replies.

The Doctor snorts. After a short stretch of silence he adds, "You should come with me, when this is done. Amy and Rory are all settled in now, and I do hate my own company. You seem like just the sore, if we can just fit you through the door of the TARDIS – have you see yourself? It's like your god built you on a larger scale. You're magnificent."

Sam tries not to be tempted by the offer, but it's hard. The idea wakes something childish and giddy in his chest, a welcome counterbalance to the dread in his stomach. "We have to find the TARDIS before we can go flying off in it." As the road to the abbey weaves uphill, trees grow younger all around them. Sam elbows River. She seems to jump from asleep to alert in a moment. Definitely military instincts that their dad would appreciate. "We're almost there," he says.

"Good thing." River rubs her face and runs her hands through her hair. "We can't have much time left."

The Doctor doesn't say anything in the backseat. Sam keeps his agreement to himself.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

The road is long. Dean has no idea how long he drives in pitch black, waiting for another message or hoping that he'll pass some big neon sign that says _Angels Imprisoned Here; Prison Breaks Around Back!_ Dean could go for a Coke. He's rewarded with a drink in the cup holder. Awesome.

Yet hoping that a big prison will appear in front of him does nothing. Nor does hoping that he'd find Castiel, or hoping that Castiel would just appear in the front seat. Dean keeps driving. Driving is easy. Keep on the path.

He thinks of Sam, and his insistence that they would spend less time getting lost if Dean would let him get a GPS unit – which was stupid, that iPod rig was bad enough. Dean could go for some angel GPS right about now. Hell, a line to Castiel would be more than enough.

His shoulder itches, and Dean releases Gabriel's weapon long enough to scratch. He feels the raised skin of that hand-shaped scar beneath his t-shirt and hits the brakes. He yanks his t-shirt up and hits the interior lights. In the dim yellow light Dean brushes the pads of his fingers over the raised shape of the hand print. "This is stupid," he says, his voice raw, but he closes his eyes and turns the wheel of the car. The itching lets up when he turns left. His arm itches like crazy when he slowly veers right, and Dean is going to take that as sign. Follow the most inconvenient radar of all time.

He kills the interior lights and guns it.

There's light on the horizon, but it's no time at all when the Impala starts shuddering and jerking, losing momentum. There's no reason – her gas gauge is full – but even with the pedal to the metal, she slows and eventually stops. Dean steps out into the darkness. He pulls the blade from its sheath, leaving the sheath in the front seat of the Impala. The dark is so oppressive and thick that it seems to dampen any light coming from the Impala. Dean tries to turn her headlights on, but there's no light but the one on the horizon.

He takes off at a run, willing the light not to be too far. His itching starts to burn and ground beneath his feet starts sticking. Dean feels like he's trekking uphill in mud, but he doesn't stop. He climbs and breathes in hard gasps; he can't seem to pull in enough air to replenish his aching lungs. Sweat on his brow and Gabriel's sword gripped tight in one hand, he looks to where the light is closer, burning his eyes, but even higher above him.

He squints against the painful glare. The light is at the top of some huge barren tree at the top of the hill. Perched on a single limb far above, a winged creature perches tucked tight in itself, the wings drooped. "Castiel!"

The darkness seems a little less heavy; Dean takes a heavy breath and feels filled. But there's something whispering in the shadows. _Deceit. Tricks. Betrayal._ Dean falls to his knees as the light dims, but now he has hope – weak and thready, but hope nonetheless. He just needs to get closer. "Cas! Get your ass down here!"

Nothing. Of course, he came here with his metaphorical guns cocked without any idea of what he was doing. With his whole body too hot from not enough oxygen and his heartbeat in his ears, Dean heaves himself to his feet and wonders if he can actually die again in Heaven.

When he reaches the top of the hellish hill, Dean sees the light far above him. Castiel sits with the top of his wings curved over his head, hiding his face from view. Dean shouts again, "C'mon! Not all of us can fly that high!" Slowly, Castiel lowers one wing enough to peer over the top. Even at the distance Dean can see the hollowness in his eyes, and he wonders not for the first time exactly what prison is in Heaven. Castiel shakes his head and tucks under his wing again. Dean shouts, "Don't you ignore me!"

Shit, that is up high. Still, it's a tree – Dean has climbed plenty of trees, and there's enough knobs and rugged edges to grab hold of. He drops the sword on the ground and claps his hands together before reaching out to haul himself up the tree.

Bark withers away and crumbles away where he touches it. "Son of a – seriously?" He places another hand on the tree, and sure as shit he can't get a grip without it breaking to dust in his hands.

"Dean Winchester."

Dean stoops down to grab the sword as he turns. The man looks like his father, grizzled beard, dirty coat and all, except the voice is all wrong. Well, maybe not. His father did escape Hell. Dean swallows and looks to the blade in his hand. It seems unnaturally bright. "What are you?" he asks, his voice thick.

"Does this make you uncomfortable? You would know me as Michael." Michael smiles like he's trying to be comforting when Dean raises the blade between them. It twists his father's features in all the wrong ways. "You have borrowed a blade from my brother."

"Look, I don't want any trouble – I'm just here for my friend." Michael circles him and Dean tracks the movement, keeping the blade in a position to strike. Michael chuckles as he tilts his head to look up at Castiel. "What are you going to do with a disobedient angel? I bet he's worth more to me."

"You think so?" Michael drawls. "It's not that I delight in hurting my brother – I have no interest in his quarrel with Raphael – but it is not my place to interfere. However, with my vessel empty on Earth, I could stop him if you consent to let me take your body."

Dean shakes his head. "Fuck off. No. What? I've never been a vessel in my fucking life."

"Had the Doctor not interfered with your future, you would have been mine eventually." Michael stops, and looks to the weapon. "Do you want to know what this prison is to him?" Dean doesn't answer, still looking for an opening or an escape or some way to get Castiel to come down already. "No Father above him, Dean Winchester in Hell below him, and poor Castiel in the middle with no way to remedy either. Raphael has a particular knack for picking out one's fears."

"Yeah, well, good for him. Cas!" This gets no response from Castiel, but Michael exhales. Dean takes a step closer. Michael stands his ground. "Just let us out. If you've got no dog in this fight, you should have no problem with that."

Michael seems to consider this. "I am not your problem. However, a human in our closest prisons raises attention – there are more coming. So I will do you this favor." Where exactly the sword comes from Dean doesn't see, but he barely has a moment to raise his own to parry the blow; it knocks him to the ground.

"The fuck kind of favor is this?" Dean yells. As he rolls out of the way Michael brings his sword up again. He doesn't look like John Winchester anymore, but something entirely too bright and powerful to behold; Dean averts his gaze and tries to keep his eye on the sword as it comes down again, quick and precise. Dean pulls himself into a tight crouch and jumps back before the blade comes, holding the machete so that he can take a slash at Michael. Dean turns as he hears a step behind him. He doesn't recognize the angel as he brings the machete around; the sword the angel was holding falls to the ground and the angel disappears with an anguished cry. There's a flutter of wings, and Dean turns again to see Michael coming at him.

Dean backs away from Michael and two angels that came in behind him. Guards, no doubt.

"If I am fighting you, my brother will not have to," Michael swinging his sword around; Dean notices that it slices a guard behind him, before the tip of it catches Dean in the chest. The pain is more of a dull ache, and Dean manages to block against the next attack and stay on his feet. "And there is still one Heavenly order that was never rescinded, one that Castiel does not disobey."

Dean rushes past Michael, plunging his blade into the angel that Michael wounded. The angel falls into a burst of light, and Dean drops just soon enough to hear the air displaced by Michael's sword above his head. Dean rolls on his back and looks up to see Michael standing above him. If he weren't already dead the sight would probably do a fair bit more than burn Dean's eyes out of his skull, but he can at least hold his ground now. He feels the heat of the blade against the side of his neck, and tries to decide the best way to attack.

Michael looks up at Castiel. Dean follows the suit, and sees Castiel staring down at them, his wings upright and tense. Michael raises his sword, and Dean lunges up. He catches the archangel in what would be his human midsection, but Dean just sort of passes through him.

It feels like frying, and for a second Dean sees everything – understands it as it flashes through his brain like a bomb exploding. Sees himself as Michael's vessel, sees half the world on fire, sees his brother as Lucifer. Feels the deaths of his closest friends, feels the impossibility of stopping the Apocalypse. His heart breaks with Michael's great regret at the death of his brother, coupled with the agony of seeing Sam twisted and dead on the rocks of some beach, the tide washing his body away as Michael watches.

Dean screams before he hits the ground again, the blade clattering out of reach. On his hands and knees, Dean can't see past the bursts of light in his eyes, and it takes him a minute to realize he's not on fire, that he's not Michael and everything was just potential. Gasping for breath, he realizes there isn't there a sword in his gut. He looks up again, and Castiel is gone.

"Dean."

Dean lurches and forces himself to sit upright on the ground that seems to feel more like grass now. Castiel is standing in front of him. Michael, standing with his sword in the ground, looks very seriously at Castiel. In fact, it looks an awful lot like a look that Dean had given Sam more than once when they were kids. Michael stretches and seems to become even larger before he's gone altogether. Dean clears his throat and stares at Castiel. "Took you long enough," he says, and finds that his voice has gone a bit hoarse. Castiel reaches out and helps him upright.

"You're dead," Castiel says, and there's such guilt in his voice that Dean almost feels bad. "How did you intend to get back?"

"I, uh, didn't give it that much thought," Dean says. He's still shaking from the force of _knowing_, and he gets it – sort of. The Doctor was doing Michael a favor. "I couldn't leave you here." They stare at each other for a long time, and for once Castiel is the first to look away. "I don't suppose you can just mojo us home."

"Not from here," Castiel says; he looks around and shudders. It's magnificent, though. Castiel is amazing. He looks like himself – well, like Jimmy, which has to be Dean's perception overtaking reality, because he also see the edges where Castiel spills over. Dean can also see his wings – not impressions on a wall or flashes in the corner of his eye, but full-on wings. They're large and tucked tight against Castiel's back, dark grey and obscuring most of Castiel's body when he turns away from Dean. "We'll have to go on foot."

"Super," Dean says, but the trek down is much less harrowing. At least this time he has Castiel to light the way.

* * *

Sam is surprised when the Doctor easily lifts the TARDIS out of the Impala; he's clearly stronger than he looks. Sam props the trunk open, staring at the haphazard pile of guns and knifes and bottles of holy water and containers of salt – the whole thing is just so _Dean _and Sam can't seem to keep his thoughts on the task at hand. River already has her guns tucked into a holster on each hip, but she reaches in and takes a knife. "Just in case," she says, smiling sidelong at Sam. He wishes they still had the Colt. He wishes that his hands would stop trembling, he wishes he could stop the terribly familiar ache of _want-need-desperation_ rushing through his veins in time with staccato heartbeat.

"Are you going to be okay?" River asks under her breath as the Doctor takes off into the abandoned building.

"Yeah," he says, though he really wants to say _I don't think so._ As they pass through the familiar hallway, Sam notices that there are in fact hinges, elaborate with finials and carvings in the flat metal – but with not a single door in sight. It's almost amusing, but for the burning in his chest as he remembers the sound of Ruby's voice, that faux-terror on Lilith's face right before Dean tackled Sam to the ground.

He remembers muzzling her and Ruby both with those carved-leather straps, locking them in and trapping them in the back of a van until they far, far away from the door to Lucifer's cage. He shivers as he thinks about Ruby, still a raw spot he tries to bury away where no one can see how much he had really cared.

"Aha!" The Doctor takes off at top speed, his feet skidding awkwardly on the smooth stone floors as he rounds a corner. Sam and River turn the corner together. And there it is – a large blue police box just behind the altar where Sam was apparently destined to kill Lilith. Sam imagines he can feel Lucifer in the ground below them, trying to claw his way free, even though it's impossible.

"Doctor!" River shouts, casing after him. Sam follows. "Doctor, wait! It could be – "

"A trap," the angel says, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit and wearing that same placid expression that seemed default for all angels. "Of course. I am not a fool, Doctor."

River unloads two rounds into the man's head before the barrel of the gun twists. She drops it with a cry, her fingers twisted unnaturally. Sam slides to a stop, nearly running into her as she pulls the other gun in her off hand, even as the two bullets seem to ooze right from the man's forehead. Her gun does not fire. Two slugs snap to the floor, one right after the other, and the man's forehead is whole.

"That's enough!" the Doctor shouts, looking between Raphael and the blue box. Raphael is fixated on Sam, and his face twists with a wry grin. "Raphael, you've lost. You don't know it yet, but you have."

"Do you think so?" Raphael says, not taking his eyes off Sam. "You've brought everything I need. I alone know where the soul to your ship lies; it's dead without me. Agree to my terms and I will – " The Doctor rushes to the TARDIS, running bodily and hitting it with his shoulder. The doors open under his weight. Somehow he disappears inside, despite the size of it. Sam doesn't know whether to run after him, or to keep Raphael back. It helps that Raphael doesn't make a move to stop him; he just raises an eyebrow. "Doctor, your ship is dead, you cannot leave in it."

Raphael steps forward, and even knowing it will do no good Sam raises his shotgun. "Don't be foolish, Sam Winchester. What do they call you? Yes – the boy with the demon blood. This is your destiny. Face it."

The gun falls out of Sam's hands and clatters to the ground, suddenly ten times heavier. Sam shakes his head, standing straight despite the weight of that previous version of himself, desperate for another hit. Unwilling to believe that he was wrong – so sure he was saving the world. "You don't control me. I won't do it."

"Of course you will," Raphael says, raising his chin up just so. "You're falling apart. I could bring Lilith back right now, and you would start the Apocalypse without thinking. Look at you. You were the weakest of God's creations. The boy destined to end the world."

"No," Sam says. "It's over. You don't get to determine who I am."

River seems to appear behind Raphael out of nowhere, one arm wrapped tight around Raphael's lean chest and the other holding the knife to his throat. Her dominate hand is still curled in, as though she can't unclench her fingers, but she hardly seems to notice. "Ask yourself, angel," she hisses in his ear. "If you were built to withstand the kind of poisons I can get thousands of years in the future. Go ahead and test me."

"I am not of this body," Raphael says. "You cannot – "

She slices hard and fast across his throat; the skin separates quickly and sizzles. Sam gags and Raphael blinks out of existence in the same moment the blue box in the corner starts to make a noise, a high metallic groan. Raphael appears again, just a couple feet out of their reach. Blood stains his white oxford and the wound still seems to be pumping blood – slowly, but still present all the same. "Don't tell me what I can't do," River says. "It's done."

"It's not done until I say it is," Raphael snarls, the sound hoarse and wet. He holds a hand to his throat, blood spilling over his fingers. One drops, two hit the floor, and Sam shakes his head to keep his attention away from the blood. "We do not need our Father to accomplish out means, we do not – "

The TARDIS makes another noise, like the groaning of wood under great pressure. The Doctor leans out the open doors with a bright smile. "Hold him busy; I'll be right back!" Raphael makes some move to lunge at the box, but is fading from existence. Sam turns to River, who manages a small smile, before the entirety of Raphael's wrath is turned to them. His throat has started to finally stitch shut, and he seems larger than life as electricity runs along the walls of the room, pooling at his feet. It begins to rain, window howling across broken windows, and Sam shivers.

"I will find him." Raphael takes a step, and the electricity crackles as his foot touches the ground. River has her knife at the ready, and Sam inches closer to her. Together they might make a dent, or keep him busy that they'll both live – and then Raphael is standing in front of Sam, his fingers closed around Sam's throat. Every hair on his body seems alive with electricity, his skin tingling and hot, and this is it. This is how he –

* * *

Time stops. Physical form is left behind, revealing them exactly as they are: souls exposed for a breathless, timeless moment carved between the space of two seconds. Foolish, perhaps, but this moment is the TARDIS' reward, a gift for everything they've both given.

_Hello, Baby. This seems to be goodbye._

It's quiet, and for the first time in entirely too long the TARDIS is without pain. No longer crammed inside the body of an impossibly small human and safe from broken time, the TARDIS simply is. The Impala's presence is perfect. If the TARDIS were the low thrum of the bass in that music Dean Winchester likes so much – the TARDIS is amused at the memory, the Impala trying to explain how her boys fought about something so human as music – then the Impala would be the ever-increasing drum beat. There's a harmony and a discord, and the TARDIS is nearly sad.

_It was too short. It shouldn't be over. Can't we just stay?_

But timeless moments cannot go forever, and the TARDIS knows it has already been too long. This is their lot – forever moving through time at the pace of other people, far and away from each other. The TARDIS could never leave the Doctor – _my silly little Doctor _– and the Impala would be lost without a Winchester to protect.

_Life. _The TARDIS can feel the Impala's bittersweet joy; glad to be on the road again, sad to leaving the TARDIS behind. They could have been so perfect. _It's so sad when it's over, isn't it?_

The TARDIS has not a throat to be choked up, but recognizes the core ache all the same. _I have to go. We have a world to fix._

* * *

Chuck doesn't get up when he hears the noise – that tell-tale _vworp-vworp_ that indicates that the story is about to get complicated. He knew it was going to happen; it's not that he wasn't paying attention. He sinks back into the worn arm chair, his back sore from the sunken cushions and lack of support, and flips his pen in the air. When the door swings open he lets the pen disappear and says, "So this is the big climax, right?"

"That's what you have to say for yourself? 'This is the big climax' – you sound like a lummox!"

"Kinda harsh," Chuck grumbles; he swigs from his flask, then belatedly holds it out to the Doctor, who glares. "Look, what do you want from me? I don't know what to do with this! This was not in my plan. I do not have an outline. I am stuck." He stands and paces, his robe falling open as dodges an empty plate and a half-filled bowl of ramen.

The Doctor pulls the TARDIS doors closed and leans back against her. He looks around the room and cringes just a little. "I know gods, Chuck – you are a fan of that name these days, right? You're just as likely to get overwhelmed as the rest of us. And who wouldn't? A couple thousand children to a single parent, of course you're overwhelmed. But we need to make some things right. Start with time. This is supposed to be your planet to watch over, so get to work."

Chuck stops, facing the Doctor. He wills the world away – the garden gone blank and white except for him, the Doctor, and the TARDIS. With a thought he creates three globes in the air before him, small models of the Earth. If he stares at one, he can see the whole story. Start to finish, beyond the scope of the story he meant to tell. "There isn't a lot of great raw material to work with. I mean, look at this one." He points to the first globe and twirls it idly with a twist of his finger. "That's the one you broke – _you_ broke, by the way. You broke the plan, and the whole thing went to shit."

"You wanted to end the world?"

"No, of course not; the world is where my favorite beer is made." The Doctor doesn't laugh, and Chuck clears his throat. "But look, it was good. The Winchesters stoping the Apocalypse was perfect, right? That was some fine work. Not that it was going anywhere good. I never think about the implications of after the end."

"I may have peeked in on that," the Doctor says, examining his fingers. "I'm not such a fan of that one either."

Chuck takes another drag from his flask and tosses it over his shoulder. "What, did you want to do your homework before telling me how to do my job?" He snaps his fingers and that globe is gone. "Anyway, that's no good. I could, of course, let the angels have their way with the Apocalypse – but then we're back to the beer problem, so that's a no." Another snap, and just the one shining globe remains. "But then we have the current version of the world. Literally in pieces. I mean, I ought to ban you from it, with all the damage you do."

"Damage I do? If you could keep a handle on your own planet, I could retire. Its just one! One planet. I've seen governments keep a dozen running more smoothly without your raw power. Don't go blaming your laziness on me." The Doctor pushes himself up off the TARDIS and circles the globe slowly. "Come on, you can do this. It's not so bad. Clean slate."

Sure, clean slate. Chuck considers it, and starts by freezing everything. Focus on the abbey, that's the action. Sam and River Song versus one pissed off archangel. That's not so bad. With a thought Raphael is safely in Heaven – trapped in Heaven. God may have mercy for all His creation, but Chuck plays favorites. "Sit down," Chuck says; he relaxes, letting his own little garden return to it's natural state. Okay, his "garden" is his living room from earth, but no one wants to think that eden looks anything like a grungy cookie-cutter house that needs a lot of work. He rubs his hands together and touches the electric edges of creations, pulling the globe larger so he can really focus. "This is going to take a while."

First: the big things. The cities righted, the buildings decayed to their age, the people safely in their own time lines. He finds the souls of those two women, battered and scattered and broken from their ordeal. Aminah's soul was burnt away by the presence of the TARDIS. Cordelia would have survived, but with a mind like sieve. Chuck smooths over their wounds and lets the souls come to rest in their bodies, right as rain.

The Doctor clicks a button on his screwdriver; it whines and turns the globe green. "Quit it," Chuck mumbles, twitching a finger to raise the globe slightly, trying to look at the plot from another perspective. He can't get rid of every bad thing; his last attempts at paradise on Earth were thwarted by a snake, and that was when there were only two people to look after. Chuck lets the globe spin idly, watching. "I can't write the future in stone," he says quietly. "That didn't go so well last time."

"True." The Doctor smiles, his face distorted through the translucent curve of the globe. He looks so very old and incredibly young all at once – and Chuck is sure that humanity is never going to be rid of the Doctor. "Haven't I always told you that the fixed points method was better? Doesn't matter how they get there, so long as they get there in one piece."

Chuck hates to admit it, but the Doctor is right on this one. He can't be a perfect world, but Chuck can give them good enough, and Dean? Dean would settle for a lot less than good enough. Dean would settle for a crappy job in a quiet town, all alone with the occasional call from his brother or his foster father. So when Chuck fashions a place for him the world, he makes sure that Dean is able to balance a home and a life on the road with his – Well, with someone who matters to him.

"Can't you fix him just a little?" the Doctor asks. "It's not that I don't appreciate his bravado, but too many guns, too little listening."

"I like him." Chuck stops for a minute, has a drink while he considers the build. It has to be just right, or it's going to go wrong again.

He returns Jimmy to ownership of his body, no longer a vessel; Chuck can't change the bloodline, but he can remove the need. Castiel has every intention to leave Jimmy when this was over anyway, and Chuck already knows exactly how well Dean fares without Castiel.

Speaking of Dean and Castiel – out of Heaven and back into their own bodies before they track him down and demand answers. Chuck has already had enough of that for one day. "Do you know how hard it is to hide from them?" he asks the Doctor. "Castiel is like a _bloodhound_."

Castiel is better as human. It's not that he wasn't a good angel – a great soldier, sure, but ditching ranks for Dean Winchester? At this point he would be a bad influence on the other angels. Besides, rebuilding Castiel as a human gives Jimmy the chance to go home. Chuck considers changing the shape of that body, but then – he knows how comfortable Castiel has become in Jimmy's skin. No reason to complicate what already works.

Admittedly, Chuck wants to give Sam everything, wants him to live a perfect life with the girl of his dreams and finish his education and become the lawyer he always wanted to be. Jessica was brought to untimely end, but she's in a good Heaven. In Heaven, there's no suffering or confusion for her; only a perfect husband and two beautiful children who look just like Sam. It would be unfair to tear her away from paradise. Besides, for Sam there is no healing like seeing the universe. Sam was made for the universe.

"You and your melodramatics," the Doctor groans, tossing his screwdriver in the air and catching it as it comes back down. "How long does it take to fix a world? I would be done by now."

"Some of us prefer literary cohesion," Chuck snaps, surveying the world in his hands. It's not the real world, of course; this is the prototype. Once this one is good enough, he'll set it in motion. He feels out the potential futures, feeling for fissures in the design. "Do you have anything you want in there? I can do anything, you know."

"Don't force them to anything." The Doctor sits up in his seat and nods. "They should be allowed to choose."

"I always let them choose," Chuck says, surveying his work. "That's how I got into this mess in the first place." He adds a child – another Winchester for the Impala to protect in a couple decades time. If they want more, they'll have to work that out of their own. "You're the one who pointed out the fixed-point model. They'll call the shots. Shit, knowing the Winchesters, they'll probably make ones I didn't plan."

"Literary cohesion," the Doctor grumbles. "So Sam is going to come along? That's good."

"You sure I can't slip something in here for you? I could let Melody Pond be raised by her parents," Chuck adds; he envisions it, that first curly-haired child to light up the Williams household.

"You keep your hands out of my world. It breaks too easily."

Ah, well; Amy and Rory certainly have plenty of happiness in their future despite it, as does River Song. "Speaking of Melody Pond – "

"Not speaking of it," the Doctor says. "I don't even know where to start."

"The Doctor's wife," Chuck laughs, holding the world in the palm of his hand. And a second wife for Bobby, yes; there's an abandoned pocket of time where he and Ellen fell in love, and it's not so hard to bring those elements into this world. Neither of them would ever heal alone, and Chuck can see a future where Dean, Sam and Jo come home for dinner once in a while.

"Don't you think you're overdoing it?" The Doctor paces around him and looks over his shoulder. "No wonder you can't keep your children under control – has anyone ever told you that you're a terrible writer?"

"Only every North American literary critic." Chuck briefly imagines the world without literary critics, but he doesn't leave it in. "But believe me, these people deserve a little bit of overdone happiness in their lives. Has anyone ever told you about the bugs?" With that, Chuck claps his hands once. The world disappears between his palms in a shimmer, and nothing feels different at all. "Don't you have somewhere to be? I believe Sam Winchester is itching to agree to your offer."

The Doctor makes his way back to the TARDIS; the doors open, and Chuck briefly glances inside. Ah, look at her – good as new. The Doctor might never know how hard it was to keep her alive in those last hours. The Doctor stops in place and looks over his shoulder at Chuck. "Don't think I won't be back if you get lax on me again."

Chuck grins. Ah, there's that flask – buried in the pocket of his robe, as always. "I sincerely hope I never see you again."


	9. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"It's bigger on the inside," Dean says as he leans back out of the front of the TARDIS, holding tight to the edges of the doors, and looks over at Bobby's house. He leans back inside and glances around. It's the biggest thing he's ever seen. "Holy shit."

The Doctor is grinning up at him from underneath that weird glass floor, and Dean stays close to the door. It's not like he doesn't like the thing for what it is, but seriously what the fuck? "I love that part," he says, muffled by the floor. Amy beside him grins.

Sam is examining something carefully on the console, but comes down to where Dean is standing. "You sure you don't want to come?" Sam asks, sounding a little wistful. "We could anywhere. We can see anything."

"In a spaceship?" Dean shakes his head. "No fucking way. I need to keep the ground under my feet." Dean pulls his brother into a hug and tries not to sound like a big girl about this. "But stop by once in a while, okay?"

"Oh, you'll hardly notice he's gone at all," the Doctor says, appearing from seemingly nowhere. "Sure I can't drop you and Castiel off? That car is so – "

"Hey!" Castiel is sitting over in the corner of the large room, looking around as though he's still a little dazed and out of his element; then again, with Jimmy sitting beside him like that, anyone would feel just a little bit out of place. Dean watches as Castiel tentatively pulls a ring from his pocket, handing it wordlessly to Jimmy. Jimmy's face lights up when he takes it and slides it onto his ring finger. Dean clears his throat and shakes his head. "Nah, we're good. Just find Jimmy's family, and we're set."

The Doctor says, "No problem; they're still with her parents, it'll barely be a trip at all."

Sam coughs. The light catches the burn marks circling his throat. "Dean, I'm going to go say goodbye to Bobby, see if he wants to come see this before we go."

"You know he won't want to," Dean calls after Sam's back. The Doctor hangs close, and Dean raises an eyebrow. "You got something else to say?"

"I have judged you harshly based on the worst possible version of you," the Doctor says, like he's practiced it a couple times but still doesn't quite want to say it. "But you keep that in mind – I know the worst about you, and I will watch for it. I have seen the sort of human Castiel can become, and you need to protect him. You shouldn't be his job anymore."

"Yeah, believe me – I know," Dean says. "You just make sure you don't accidentally drop my brother into a black hole or whatever, okay? The last thing I need is you on my doorstep telling me that the last of my family is dead."

"Well, not the last," the Doctor says, grin breaking the grim expression on his face. "That's enough of that, we understand each other, let's get going then! I have a lot of my own problems to deal with. Don't need yours as well, and we have a lot of stops to make before I go. If you're not coming along, now is the time to step off."

Dean takes a couple steps backwards and back out onto the gravel of Bobby's salvage yard. It's not a minute before Castiel follows, stilling wearing that borrowed long-sleeved shirt that's just a little too big and jeans that fit just right. It does look better than the suit; Amy had that right. Sam comes running up, duffel bag over his shoulder. He and Dean spare one more hug before he steps into the TARDIS. "No guns?" the Doctor asks.

"You couldn't beg me to bring them," Sam says, before he disappears behind the closed doors. Dean swallows the lump in his throat when the ship disappears. This is good. It's time for Sam to get off the road, and there's not enough room for the three of them in the Impala anyway.

Speaking of which, their guests are huddled together in the back seat of the Impala, talking like they'd known each other for ever. They'd both slept for days before coming to; even then, they'd responded first by reaching out to each other. Dean doesn't know if they remember – though the Doctor swears they can't possibly – or some instinct.

Dean promised to take them back to Aminah's place in Chicago; she taught classes at a university, and at first has only been able to say over and over again, "I was just in Riverside visiting friends, I almost didn't go." Cordelia wouldn't say where she was from or how she had arrived at that hotel in Riverside, but Aminah didn't seem to mind having her along for the ride.

Smiling, Dean turns to Castiel. "You gonna be okay?" he asks, a hand on Castiel's shoulder. Castiel gives him a shaky half-smile, and Dean adds, "Because if you need more time, we can wait. Bobby can drive 'em home."

"No, let's go," Castiel says. "I'm ready to be on the road." And Dean remembers sitting in the dark living room that first night, the porch light through the window illuminating Castiel's face as he whispered, _"I'll never fly again."_

Dean tosses their bags into the trunk. Bobby stands on the porch with a beer; he gives Dean a curt nod and raises his bottle just slightly before heading inside, and Dean understands. They'll be back before too long. Castiel climbs into the passenger seat and settles in to stare at the road atlas. Dean smiles at the sight of him flipping through the pages until he finds South Dakota.

Sliding into the driver's seat, Dean runs his hands over the steering wheel. The car smells like last night's blueberry pie, and the air outside is unseasonably warm. He cracks the window. "Well, baby, are you ready for another adventure?" In the back seat, Cordelia and Aminah both fixed him with puzzled stares; he can see their faces in the rearview mirror. Castiel rolls his eyes, but he's got an affectionate smile on his face.

The Impala comes to life when Dean turns the key.


End file.
